Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Many, many things could be said about Berk. That it was sturdy; true. That it was a place packed with violent, super sick-and-awesome vikings? Also true. That it was packed with also-violent, super evil, thieving dragons? Also, also true. They’d burned down his neighbor’s house last week. They’d burned down almost everyone’s house, during some week.

It had scared Snotlout, if anyone could believe it. Served as an ashy reminder of what could happen to him. To any of them, if someone failed. If Snotlout failed.

His family’s own house got destroyed too, just a year ago; a monstrous nightmare had climbed on top of it like his ancestral home had been a toy. A hill to clamber over. The rebuild had gone as efficiently as the others, if his dad had anything to say about it, but Snotlout felt like the balance of…something had shifted. Something had changed in his father, that day. In both of them.

His ancestors would not be proud of the number of heirlooms they had lost. (They also apparently wouldn’t be proud of how he cried like a “little baby” over the loss of his only remaining childhood toy that he had secretly still slept with at night. Which…didn’t matter. He was 15. He should act like it.) His dad certainly wasn’t proud, and his pride in Snotlout had seemed to dissapear overnight. 

Never before had Snotlout felt such a burning disappointment, pointed at him . Because he had been too late. (They had all been too late.) It had felt like his world had burned down, that day. He never wanted it to happen again, but…

His world was on fire. This, unfortunately, was not new.

The loud, haunting bellow of the warning horns had seemed to send itself straight to his ears like a thunderdrum echo (or what he’d thought one would sound like, anyway…) in the middle of the night, like always.

Snotlout had jolted awake with a shout and fell out of his bed in his attempts to jump out of it as a “prepared viking should”. Like always.

By the time he’d shoved some kind of clothing on--some semblance of protection--he was off; bolting down the stairs, past the battered shields and the ceremonial axe that hung on the walls; they’d somehow survived the fire. Snotlout scrambled to fetch his shoes, mind racing in an anxious sort of terror. Not that. Not that he was scared, just… He wouldn’t be late this time; (last week, he had reported for duty even later than Fishlegs did. And that guy didn’t know how to outrun a lazy ram.)

Snotlout swore, those months ago, that he really would try. He would try harder, be better . He had thought he’d been doing good enough--been strong enough --already, but. Nothing seemed to make his father any happier. Nothing he did was as awesome as his Dad could be, but Snotlout tried anyway. (He did. He did try, and he, personally, thought the formation of an official Fire Brigade was cool, anyway.)

The second he opened the door (neither parent in sight--probably out fighting like good, strong vikings--) his 100%- not -scared face was blasted with a wall of heat, and he cringed very manly…ily. Very cool-y. He was cool, and he was running through the fire-scarred lands to his station like Vikings in bedtime legends. Because he was so cool. And not scared.

The twins and Astrid were at the post already when he got there, (Thor, Astrid was so…awesome… ), the twins snickering at the slightly awestruck look that overtook his face whenever he saw her.

“Hey, Snotdung, is Astrid’s stupid face on fire or are you just staring?” Tuffnut snorted, his gangly shoulders so curled inwards that Snotlout didn’t know how he could lift her own dumbass limbs, let alone the water bucket he had filled.

“Wait, if Astrid’s face is stupid, then what does that make his?” Tuffnut elbowed Ruff in the bony ribs, her dumbass long face contorting into a long-worn sneer.

“Snotty, obviously,” Ruffnut huffed, pulling her equally dumbass self up to her (annoyingly tall) height, like the wheatstalk she was, “ ‘Tis in the name, brother Nut--”

“Can you dumbasses stop talking, already?” Astrid huffed, nearly spilling her recently-filled bucket (but she didn’t, because she was so effortlessly cool --) as she hurriedly stood from the crouch she was in, “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s fire. Everywhere , and we-- ,”

Astrid took a pause to glare at him, a dragon’s roar and matching viking bellow echoing from…somewhere, (Oh, Thor , she’s looking at him with her eyes and he--) and then Fishlegs, as he came lumbering over in a fast-panting run, “--have to go put them out. Now ,”

Nothing else was said, a sudden shriek splitting from the air as the chief’s commanding boom could be heard nearly from across town. Right.

Snotlout hurriedly filled a bucket, wincing man-ily again as a rumbling crash resounded across the path, a seething hiss of a dragon echoing into the chaotic night. Ash was beginning to steadily rain from the churning sky, whipped into a frenzy by dozens of beating, scaled wings. Ash that probably contained someone else’s family heirlooms. Right.

He turned just in time to watch as Astrid poured her bucket on a slightly smoldering hut, her golden hair gleaming divinely in the harrowing light. There had never been a person who could be so awesome , he thought. (Except for his dad. And maybe the chief.)

 Her water spray was, of course, super effective—far better than the twins’ had been—and he nearly dropped his bucket in his hurry to join her. ( Faster , Snotlout, better , Snotlout--). 

The fire on the house—it was unrecognizable as to whose, anymore--was steadily licking up the wooden panels, working its devilish path to the roof. Snotlout didn’t have to look at the haunted expression on Fishleg’s face as they worked to distinguish the flames that their efforts were probably useless, on this one, but he saw it anyway. Those wide, fearful eyes. He didn’t want to know if his own face reflected the other boy, and he didn’t stop to think about it--just kept his head down, eyes squinting through the heat, and ran to refill his own bucket.

Astrid had turned, eyes wide with a sudden fear that Snotlout dreaded seeing on her, “Oh, Thor,”

She turned fully away from her filling bucket, Snotlout not far behind: a gleaming Zippleback, sickeningly, slithered its way out from behind the smouldering hut, mouths clicking and spitting and gassing and--

Boom .

Snotlout and Fishlegs practically flew backward, the blast searing their skins more than either would probably admit later. Odin , that hurt .

“Hey!” Astrid yelled, pushing her way forward and throwing her bucket across them, fear seemingly pushed aside. Snotlout flinched away from the rash movement, even as he gazed with wonder and fear at her angered, ashen face. (Later, he’ll realise that they had been on fire . Astrid had probably saved his skin, if not his entire life . She was so awesome .)

An older, grizzled Viking came bolting over at the commotion, two others at his side, weapons held high. They all let out an angered shout at the destruction. Snotlout absently wondered if the home had been one of theirs, as he scrambled to pick himself up off the newly muddy, heated ground.

Snotlout stood just in time for one of the older Vikings to turn and shout, “Go! Protect the smithy and the square--if that burns down, then we might as well send ourselves to Valhalla!”

The woman next to him yelled, her voice splitting the air just as a dragon shriek chilled his bones, “Come back, you two-headed bastard! I’ll make a Thor’s-damn steak of you!”

Astrid nodded in concentrated fury, her teeth grit amidst the terror as she turned to the others, (she always knew what to do, she was just so --), “ Hey ! You heard him, get to the smithy! If we run out of weapons to protect ourselves, then we’re all dead,”

Snotlout laughed, loudly, Not Terrified, “Oh--wow, hey! I was just--just about to say the same thing, that’s so crazy, maybe I--we should, you know--”

“Stop talking?” Astrid shoved his fallen bucket into his hands, immediately turning away in the smithy’s direction, “Great idea. Run,”

The five of them took off like sheep in a boar pit, buckets clutched to their chests like harried mothers at a weeping baby’s crib, dragon wails breaking the night often enough to keep any thoughts of slowing down to a passing wish.

They got to the smithy just in time for Gobber to yell at them, “About time you lot showed up! ‘s beginning to think you all decided to sleep in!”  Another hut, shockingly packed close to Gobber’s residence at the anvil, was burning, a molten lump of rock piled at the burning door. Evidence, culprit.

Fishlegs whimpered, breath coming in heaves, (Snotlout couldn’t tell if it was in fear or excitement that he got to spew his stupid dragon facts again), “Gronkle lava, loo-looks like. Hot--don’t touch it, it’s a heat class five, maybe six? Right now, even hotter than Monstrous Nightmare flame-”

“Do you ever shut up , Fishface?” Snotlout snapped, pushing him towards the large, water-filled keg as he watched the twins bicker over the spout, Astrid running off with hers already filled, “Because I need you to shut your useless trap and be helpful for once,”

“Hello pot,” Tuffnut cackled merrily, the destruction seeming to do little to dull his constant amusement, bucket refilled and in his hands. He scampered off to the wreck before Snotlout could pummel him. Normally, Snotlout was accustomed to laughing with them, but. No. He had to focus.

Ruffnut, chortling, followed suit, “Meet cookfire!”

Snotlout practically yelled as he charged into whagt felt like flames after them, matching bucket in hands, after a brief wait under the keg’s spout, “What does that even mean !”

The twins were busy tossing water every which way when he got to the burning doorstep, and Snotlout decided to go for the heart of the issue. Molten rock sizzled unpleasantly under his steaming efforts, the water boiling almost immediately after he threw it, and Snotlout swallowed uncomfortably as he stared at the hot lava. Was it…was it supposed to bubble like that? It almost looked like--

“Move!” Astrid all but hip-checked him out of the way, tossing her new water onto the flames, all thoughts of bubbles on his end forgotten. (She…she touched. She touched him. Voluntarily. Touched. Oh wow .)

“Haha…yeah,” Snotlout smirked, turning with her as she walked back to the keg, a subtle loosening in his shoulders. The lava continued sizzling, growing duller and duller until it looked a lot more like rock again. They saved it, this time. Hel yeah.

All five of them walked back to the keg, hopefully to put out some other fire, and then.

A resounding boom shook what felt like all of Midguard as the house behind them was...blown up. Again. 

Sweet mother of Thor .

Chapter Text

The flames flared at their backs, seeming to seep into his spine. His bones. Fine . He’d admit it. Snotlout was terrified. Like a wimp. (Maybe his dad did have a reason to be so disappointed.)

“ Hels !” Astrid yelled, pushing herself forward, ash covering her gorgeous face, “Move!”

The five of them bolted forward, buckets clumping at their sides as they made their way back to the keg. Snotlout couldn’t bear to look back as he tore away from the sudden hazard, steps fast with the flight of terror. The others didn’t risk a glance, either, so at least he wasn’t the only offender. He felt a little sick, which was. Not because of the dragons. He’s a strong Viking who Wasn’t afraid. He was not . They did this all the time. Dragons were evil and terrible and bad ; he should be used to that by now.

Fishlegs sighed pitifully, sadly, and Snotlout wanted to violently elbow him with the force of Thor. Shut up. Shut up. They hadn’t failed. He hadn’t . Don’t—

“Don’t start whining like we all messed up, Fishbutt,” Snotlout glared, the fury contorting his face into a sneer. He hated how pathetic the guy looked. How dare he be allowed to feel sorry for himself, “This is your fault,”

“What—?” Fishlegs whimpered, looking terrified (like a loser) and confused (also like a loser), “How does that even—“

“Eeeh, let the fish gasp for air if he wants,” Tuffnut shrugged dramatically, his face still curled into a perpetual, annoying, smarmy grin. Nothing ever phased the twins—they were probably shaken at birth. (Or stretched, with how long their…pretty much everything was.) He found them funny most of the time, but annoying any other day.

Ruffnut sighed mockingly, loudly, “ I’m not gonna be telling the chief about this one,” 

(As if she held any authority.)

“It’s…fine. It’ll be fine,” Astrid insisted, bending down (hey, hey, what —) to refill her bucket again, gaze locked on the smoke still churning into the air, “We still have work to do, you know,”

The sudden burst from Gobber’s doors at the forge seemed to agree. The one-legged, one-armed Viking had affixed an axe to his arm attachment, and was bolting forward with all the speed his mismatched walk could muster. (Which was pretty fast, actually.) 

Snotlout would never admit it, but the forgesmith was one of the coolest Vikings he’d ever seen. He’s never actually wanted anything to do with Snotlout, though. (He didn’t think his father would even let him try again, so sure of the embarrassment Snotlout would bring them. Bring him. The time he set the forge on fire was not his fault, okay?)

Gobber raised his axe in the air with a mighty yell, soon trampling out of sight. The forge…was unprotected. That. That was bad, right? 

Sneaking a glance at the others, Snotlout peered into the window as best he could from so far away. He didn’t see anyone, and he swore.

“Oh, what now , Snotlout?” Astrid huffed, hefting her bucket up and over to send the water at the house’s flames. He wondered if she thought that it was a lost cause. Not that Astrid would ever give up on anything; she was too cool for that. He wouldn’t, either--and he certainly wouldn’t go around distracting her when she was so busy doing…job things.

“Oh, nothing, babe,” Snotlout puffed up his (very manly, warrior-like) chest before turning to his own bucket again, Astrid’s disgusted “ ugh ” fading into the noise of the night’s activity. He watched it fill up as the vision of the metal was distorted by the water. 

Snotlout stood, risking a glance at the forge again. Just in time to see a giant… contraption , followed by a wimpy boy throw themselves out the doors. Hiccup , that fishbone. Pushing along a… thing .

A thing he was running down the streets with— loudly . The other’s backs were turned to the forge, busy dumping water on their burning post. He can’t let them slip up again. Not because of Hiccup doing...whatever the hells he was up to.

 “Ugh,” Snotlout sneered, noticing Fishleg’s look as he turned around. Maybe someone else had noticed, “Shut up , Fishface!”

“Uhhh, okay , Mr. Mysterious, defender of stupid secrets,” Tuffnut snorted. At him. Again. Why did the twins keep getting at him? 

“Don’t call him mysterious, he’ll get a big head about it,” Ruffnut huffed, almost tossing her whole bucket into the flames. The water missed the fire completely, “Well…a bigger head,”

“Are you saying I have a big head?” Snotlout demanded, turning on her and pointing his finger in her face like his mother did to him and his father when they were being stupid, or something, “Because I will end you. My head is perfectly normal and better than yours , by the way. Just thought I should say that,”

Astrid practically screamed, turning on all of them, bucket held up high like she was close to chucking it at their skulls, “Can you dunderheads shut up ? Because I’m going to throttle you,”

Fishlegs whimpered again, like the wimp he was, and Snotlout tried not to cringe backwards at the fury in Astrid’s gorgeous eyes. Thor , she was so cool .

“Ri-right,” Snotlout laughed, hopefully in a way that would make her swoon at his sheer cool manly coolness, “Um, I mean--Anything you want, babes,”

“This house is on fire ,” She glared at him, at all of them, “Do your jobs , for the love of Thor!”

The dragon that let out a piercing shriek into the night right afterwards was enough of an endorsement for them. Loud, haunting—a shrill shriek sent straight from the bowels of Helheim. It sent a chill down Snotlout’s newly charred back. He didn’t want to meet the thing if it made a noise like… that .

“Night fury!” Someone was yelling, and Snotlout didn’t need to think before throwing himself to the ground. The others followed suit, and he covered his own skull, as if he didn’t know damn well that his small amount of armour would do nothing against an actual dragon’s blast. He just didn’t want to die.

The blast seemed to shake the earth, a glare of purple reaching them from the end of the village. Whatever the Night Fury shot crumbled down, the ground shaking again. Night Furies never miss.

Snotlout didn’t whimper. He didn’t . ( Fishlegs totally did, though, the loser.) 

The island felt like it shook, still, even after the rumbling ceased, and Snotlout got a feeling that it wasn’t just the ground shaking anymore. No one could blame Snotlout for that, at least. Night Furies were the terrifying, horrifying demons of existence. He hadn’t seen one--didn’t ever, ever want to--for him to know that he was much happier that way. Maybe Snotlout didn’t need to meet every terror in the dark. 

Astrid sighed, a certain kind of despair sitting heavily on all of their shoulders. Snotlout forced himself upwards from his cower, grimacing at his now mud-covered front. His mother was gonna make him do laundry . Again . Could this night get any worse?

The house behind them let out a loud rumble, and Snotlout froze. Oh, it could. It so could.

“Uhhh, guys…” Fishlegs whined, Snotlout turning around to look at what he was hoping, praying wasn’t a ruined mess. He couldn’t have messed up again. He couldn’t have.

Of course, the second he turned to lay eyes on their charge, the fire flared like some sickening act of Loki. Snotlout squinted; it was almost too bright to look at. The house groaned again, a post from the front peeling off the wall. Straight towards Snotlout’s face.

Snotlout yelped, throwing himself backwards as the hurtling, flaming log came crashing down where he had been standing. He wished that was the end of it, but no. In horror, he watched as the rest of the house followed.

Walls, posts; the five of them could do nothing but listen. Watch as the ceiling finally gave in, roof crumbling to the ground; taking all of the owner’s keepsakes with it. 

As if a final defeated sigh, the house’s door fell from it’s side to flat on the dirt, cracking in two. Snotlout would do anything to not be the one telling his dad about this, “Oh, great ,”

”Shut up,” Astrid demanded at Snotlout almost immediately after he spoke, and he winced as she continued, “All of this? Means that we’re not focused enough. Get it together. Now ,”

 (Right, Snot-Man. Time to actually be awesome, for real this time. No more of this loser stuff. Actually. Seriously . Don’t be like Fishlegs, don’t be like--)

A sudden, shrill yell called out from the hills, and Snotlout jolted around, looking for the source. Fishlegs hugged his bucket to his chest, and the twins snickered. Snotlout considered panicking, until his eyes locked onto the loud figure in the distance. The yell wasn’t a dragon, but…

There was a small, gangly shape running for, well, the hills—fleeing a raging, flaming Monstrous Nightmare that was crawling after him like it had come up straight from Helheim. Speaking of losers.

“Hey, look at that!” Ruffnut laughed, jabbing a finger at the horizon of the chaos as if everyone else couldn’t see, “Hiccup really is gonna be used as a toothpick!”

“I don’t know,” Tuffnut snorted ‘thoughtfully,’ a sneer breaking through the facade of pretension, “He might be too stringy. I wouldn’t even touch Hiccup, if I was a dragon. Too skimpy,”

“Oh yeah, like you’re one to talk,” Snotlout laughed, gesturing towards the twins, “You two are lighter, combined and wet, than literally anyone I know,”

“Except Hiccup,” Tuffnut jumped in, sweeping Snotlout’s stress solidly under the metaphorical yak-rug. For now. (That is what a metaphor’s about, right? His mother said smart Vikings liked to use them, apparently, but he wasn’t sure what they meant. Or…were. Who cared about smarts, anyway?)

Snotlout snuck a glance at Astrid, full well expecting her to jump in. Say some more totally insightful, totally beautifu-- cool things.

She, however, didn’t say anything, eyes trained to the figure that continued to run. Away from the hills, and into the village. Leading the Monstrous Nightmare right into the square. Towards them. What.

“Aww, is Astrid worried for the little fishbone?” Tuffnut cooed mockingly, wiggling his weird, long, wiggly fingers all over the place. (Freaky guy. Freaky hands ; they bent in ways that hands should not bend.)

Ruffnut prodded Tuff in the side with a bony elbow, snickering, “Nooo, shh, if you talk about the secret crush too early, you’ll lose the plot!”

Snotlout was just baffled, honestly, “What in the hels is a plot? Like…an evil guy’s plan? Why are you losing it?”

“Yes,” Tuffnut grinned cheekily, as Ruffnut sneered and said, “Nah,”

Fishlegs said nothing, as it looked like he was busy trying to make himself disappear. Wimpy nerd.

Astrid suddenly let out a strangled gasp, her hands coming up to clasp at her face before suddenly stopping, mid-air. Petrified. Snotlout definitely didn’t like that. Oh, Thor.

Snotlout whipped around to where she was staring. Just in time to watch a giant flaming torch fall over, the bottom burnt to a smoldering crisp. What?

As the post hit the ground with a light thud, the torch top, still covered in fire , by the way , crashed into someone’s house. Setting the place ablaze immediately. What .

Though, because the Viking life, and Snotlout’s, in comparison, couldn’t get any worse, the torch began to roll. Out of the house, down the hill. Crashed into a different house. Fire.

Sent itself into another house. Fire .

Another--he got the feeling that the torch was going to take out as many childhood memories and memorabilia as possible, tonight.

Snotlout felt his blood rush through his body. Did he even have a body? Who cares? Who needs blood? Who needs skin? 

What in the Hel did that ?

Or , Snotlout thought wryly, a sick feeling of anger and satisfaction curling into his gut as the five of them tumbled into the square where the torch had been. The hunched shoulders of one wimpy cousin that was withering under the chief’s bellowing reprimands; Who the Hel was responsible for that?

Man, Hiccup . If there was anyone Snotlout could never be worse than, it was him . (As if Snotlout could be worse than anybody; seriously?)

The little (skimpy, wimpy, little ) accidental arsonist had been his stick of a cousin. Oh gee, who could’ve guessed. It’s not like Hiccup’d had “accident” engraved into his bones since birth or anything.

Snotlout snickered, leaning on Tuffnut’s shoulder as Hiccup was essentially dragged past him and the others by the chief, whining and whatever all the way. Eh, no one ever cared what that guy rambled abou—

“ Okay but I caught a night fury ,” Hiccup suddenly blurted out in the same breath, like he was forgetting how to breathe. Odin, if anyone could fail breathing , it’d be that guy.

Actually, scratch that. What. Snotlout was forgetting how to breathe. Hiccup caught a what . The worst Viking, like, ever , caught a what?

Ha . Hah ha …right . Yeah, sure . Snotlout knew better. His cousin could hardly hold an axe above his head without breaking his tiny twig arms. As if Hiccup could catch the scariest, more demonic thing ever . As if. 

The guy was still whining about feeding the village less or…whatever. Like he had any responsibility over the village, ha! At least Snotlout had a job that wasn’t being Gobber’s personal toothpick holder or something. Man, he’s so much better than Hiccup. Was there ever any doubt?

The twins seemed to agree with his assessment, as Ruffnut let out a loud cackle that Tuffnut matched, wide sneers spread out across long faces. Of course, Hiccup was being ridiculous. Of course. Was there ever any doubt? Because Snotlout wasn’t worried. No. Hiccup could never surpass him and become the chief and end up being better than him even if Snotlout totally deserved to be the next chief more . Nope. That didn’t worry him. At all.

Actually. Seriously .

Chapter Text

Snotlout’s father had been angry. At him. Again . It wasn’t even his fault this time! 

(It never was, though! Never. Was . The tree incident was definitely the twins’ fault, and that time he locked their entire family out of the house and lost their keys in the ocean was an act of Thor .)

This time it was about the houses. The two houses that burned down. On Snotlout’s watch. Because the entire team’s liabilities and faults were nothing compared to his, like always. Snotlout should’ve known— remembered —that from the start, and he should’ve been better .

He can always be better, always should be better. If there was one value his father had managed to get through Snotlout’s supposedly thick skull was that hard work meant success. Well. Glory meant success. And you get glory through hard work. 

Hard work that Snotlout…hadn’t been doing. As Dad had pointed out. A lot.

And then, along with every other warrior in town, he left. Again. And threatened to kick Snotlout out of his room and into the basement.

Because Snotlout hadn’t been trying hard enough.

But it all changed now! Today ! Who cared if his family was going off on a long, perilous voyage? Who cared about how the disappointed stare from one Spitelout Jorgenson was a promised bad omen on the daily? Not…Not him! Snotlout’s dreams were finally, finally going to become reality! 

There was nothing better to solve his problems: he was finally being submitted for dragon training, and in the running for the next Dragon Trial.

“It might be the most glorious thing ya could ever do , boy! Killing a dragon in front of the whole village! In front of Stoick!” his dad had insisted, a smile upon his previously contorted, angered face (because Snotlout had messed up, he’d failed —) “And you’ll be winning it and bringing home all the pride you could ever need, to start being a Viking like me,”

Did Snotlout want to be like his father? Of course he did; there was nothing else for him, no one better to be. (Except…except to be chief. But no one could ever hope, dream to surpass Stoick the Vast. Come on—not even his father had managed that, even though he was still a super important council member. It’s not like the existence of Hiccup helped anything, either.) His dad was pretty much the peak of vikings, in his opinion--in his family, anyway.

And so. Here he was, finally. Waltzing into one of the most awesome places pretty much ever . The Dragon Ring. Only the place where the greatest Vikings this side of Berk found their glory, found their pride. Only the place where the worst of the worst dragons they catch are captured in an awesome show of power against the other beasts.

In short, Snotkout was freaking out. In. In a good way. He thinks.

“Welcome to dragon training!” Gobber had grinned gleefully, a bit terrifyingly. Like a good, cool Viking should; doubled down only by the fact he sent the heavy metal grate sliding upwards with the force of just his metal hook. Oh, gods , this was happening .

“No turning back,” Astrid breathed next to him, ahead of him, a feeling of awe interjected into excitement. Of course she’d say something like that. Suave. Intentional. Memorable. Thor, she was amazing.

They had all gathered awkwardly near the grate to the ring, and had waited for Astrid’s lead before walking in. Well. Every…Everyone else had. Not Snotlout, of course. He didn’t follow anyone’s lead. He was an original . He was just behind her because he. Wanted to be.

Tuffnut, of course, could care less about how awesome and amazing the whole thing was, and started his whole shtick. Hopefully he was funny, today, “I hope I get some serious burns!”

Burns. Ugh. His house had those. So did his…well. 

Snotlout’s house wasn’t the only thing burned that night, those weeks ago. 

It was all he could do to watch his parents leave on their dangerous, very possibly deadly voyage. Again. He wasn’t thinking about it. Wasn’t upset about the searing red that had clawed its way up his mother’s arm, that night. No, Snotlout didn’t think he was thinking about anything at all right now.

Ruffnut contemplated, ticking her gangly head to the side as her hair swung around, as careless as she was, “Mm, I’m hoping for some mauling, like on my shoulder or my upper back,”

Mauling. Scars… ow . They looked cool as all Hel, but .

“Yeah, it’s only fun if you get a scar out of it,” Astrid hummed along with them; she was pretty much definitely not paying attention to the two. That was 100% her “I don’t really care what you’re saying,” hum. Snotlout had heard it an…apparently embarrassing amount of times. At least, that’s what Ruffnut said.

Snotlout--for all that he knew he was the coolest , pretty much ever --could not see himself covered in scars. It just…No. 

Oh, who was he kidding? His dad had scars. His mom had scars. His badass, chieftain uncle definitely had scars. Scars were a sign of glory. And Snotlout refused to be anything other than glorious . Who cared if it meant weeks, months of pain? (Or that his mom still woke up each morning with a grimace on her face that no one talked about…)

As if the very gods decided to punch Snotlout personally, an annoying, smarmy voice perked up from behind everyone else. Emphasis on annoying , “Yeah, no kidding, right? Pain. Love it, ”

Because Hiccup, of course, had been invited. For some reason. (Because he was the chief’s son, and basically got all he ever wanted handed to him on a bronze platter, except for his muscle and overall use .)

Shut up, Snotlout wanted to yell at him, Like you have any right to be here. As if Hiccup held any talent, any skill. Any ability to be on par with even someone like Fishlegs, let alone Snotlout. Or Astrid. (Yeah, no one was really much better than Astrid…)

At least the twins were funny. (And reckless. And weirdly able to get away with a lot, with very little consequence…) At least Fishlegs sort of looked the part of an actual Viking. Of course, Snotlout was all of that and more. He knew he was. Why did anyone decide to give his wimpy cousin the time of day, ever ?

“Oh great,” Tuffnut groaned, looking away from the terrible sight, “Who let him in?”

“Well, let’s get started!” Gobber, like the unbothered, unruffled, awesome warrior of a Viking he was, didn’t even glance over. He was probably ashamed he had to interact with someone like Hiccup alone, let alone teach him, “Th’ recruit that does the best wins the honor of killing his first dragon in front of the entire village,”

Snotlout couldn’t believe it. He just…couldn’t. How could Hiccup be here? Hiccup ?

“Well, Hiccup already caught a Night Fury, so does that disqualify him, or?” Snotlout sneered, glaring over at his wimpy cousin. His lying, whiny, cheating cousin. If Hiccup’s dad wasn’t the chief, he couldn’t be here. And everyone knew that.

Tuffnut snickered, the cruel— righteous turn of Snotlout’s mouth amusing him almost as much as the sarcasm, “Yeah, can I switch to the class with the cool Vikings?”

Oh, come on , Tuff. Mean. Snotlout shot him a glare, the jab that might have just been for Hiccup ricocheting to Snotlout as well. Not cool. Well, Snotlout was cool, but Tuffnut wasn’t right now. If he was, ever, at all. (Snotlout also didn't need a reminder of the guy’s teasing from the other night, either. He hated when the twins talked circles around him like that. It was annoying .)

Gobber turned away from the apparently comforting words he had been spewing to Hiccup—the useless wishbone , by the way—and back to the class. Snotlout hadn’t heard what the man had said, but the snickering face Ruffnut wasn’t even trying to hide said that maybe the tone didn’t match the words. Hopefully.

Snotlout really needed Hiccup to stop getting cool things and cool people in his circle. It was so tiring.

“Behind these doors are just a few dragons you lot will learn to face!” Gobber gestured grandly to one contraption-covered door with his hook, his metal darkened by either the forge or dragon fire. Badass , either way,  “The Deadly Nadder,”

Fishlegs whimpered from where he stood in the lineup, and Snotlout resisted the urge to fight him. (Ha, fight. As if pummeling that guy would be an even match.) “Speed, eight. Armour: sixteen,”

Gobber, without batting an eye, spoke a bit more loudly than before, “The Hideous Zippleback!”

(Snotlout didn’t need to think of the exploded houses to remember how much he hated those things…) 

“Plus eleven stealth times two ,” Fishlegs was practically pissing himself, over there. At least that would be entertaining, to some point…

“The Monstrous Nightmare!” Gobber declared again, ignoring him. Wow, he was good at that.

Fishlegs sounded like he was going to fall over from sheer nerdy excitement, “Firepower: fifteen,”

Snotlout wanted to make the guy fall over. With his fist . To the geek’s face .

Gobber finally looked annoyed, sending a quick, irritated look towards the line. Great. Fishlegs managed to ruin everything already, “…The Terrible Terror!”

As if he had never heard of context clues in his entire miserable life, Fishlegs continued to squeal to himself at the end of the line, “Attack: eight. Venom: twelve!”

“CAN YA’ STOP THAT ?” Gobber finally roared at him, frustration bubbling to the surface. It wasn’t exactly uncommon to see the man irritated by something or other, (you can only serve an entire village for so long until they see you pissed off about it), but it’s another thing entirely to have that anger guided towards you. Near you. 

Snotlout was so gonna punch Fishlegs when today was over. But not before, because he was at least a decent student . Sometimes. Maybe . 

Okay, right now he was.

“And…” Gobber thumped off heatedly to another door, hooking himself around a matching lever. His eyes were suddenly alight with a very terrifying kind of glee, “The Gronkle!”

Fishlegs, like the dunderhead he somehow still was--even though he had his fat head shoved in a book most of the time--still whispered, “Jaw strength: eight,”

The thing is, Snotlout would be more annoyed at the final anecdote if he hadn’t been watching Gobber. Watched how the man’s arm was tugging down at the lever and all of a sudden the door was shifting, clicking. Opening .

“Woah, woah, wait!” Snotlout suddenly cried out, jumping backwards as the door continued to creak around in a very open for a dragon kind of way, “Aren’t you gonna teach us something first?”

Gobber almost looked like he was trying not to laugh. (Maybe that one story Snotlout had heard about the guy smelling fear was true…) “I believe…in learning on the job,”

As if on cue, the metal doors slammed open, and the big, fat, hostile beast burst out of confinement. Its small wings created a sickening buzzing noise as they flapped. It reminded Snotlout of a giant, oversized bee in the worst way. The beast’s beady eyes scanned the small crowd as if it was categorizing which to eat first. (As if dragons were smart enough to do that.)

“Today is about survival! If you get blasted... you're dead !” Gobber crowed pleasantly, like he wasn’t ready to watch a bunch of kids-- young vikings, yeah, cool ones --get burned alive and eaten and maimed and--, “Quick! What's the first thing you're going to need?”

Snotlout was. He wasn’t freaking out. He wasn’t, he wasn’t .

“A doctor?!” Someone shouted, smarmy and annoyingly familiar. Snotlout resolutely ignored that (he was learning from Gobber after all!), instead running to the weapons.

Maybe everything faded to a bit of a buzz in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Gronkle wingbeats, but Snotlout was fine . And he was listening . And he was going to be awesome . (And if it was anything to look forward to, he wanted Fishlegs decimated first .)

“—make a choice between a sword or a shield, take the shield!” Gobber commanded from off where he’d suddenly gotten, watching the battle with keen eyes. Shield. Shield?

Over a weapon? That…didn’t seem right, did it? His dad had always said the opposite. He took a peak at Astrid, and watched as her face contorted in the same momentary confusion next to him, eyes darting wildly off to the side. At least he wasn’t the only one confused.

In true fearless fashion, though, Astrid was the first to rush forward, dashing towards the shields and hoisting one in a brilliant green onto her arm. She didn’t even bother looking at the color. Man , Astrid was so cool. (What weirdo color coordinated their shields, anyway? Haha…not him…)

Snotlout rushed the weapon and shield wall right after Astrid yanked her shield off, shooting her a confident, handsome grin. She was busy running in the other direction, but he’s sure she would’ve appreciated it.

He turned back towards the array, totally not looking for a cool red shield, and ignoring the twins fighting in the corner over something. Flowers, girls…what?

“—Oops, now it has blood on it,” Ruffnut sneered at Tuff, yanking an apparently recently bloodied shield from her groaning twin’s hands. Yikes.

Before Snotlout could have any more cool, independent thoughts about shields, there was a sudden uptake in the buzzing noises. He didn’t have time to freeze. It was time to think .

Snotlout wrapped his very manly hand (not weak or flabby , like his dad had called it a week ago) around a shield painted in red and skulls and other cool stuff. 

With a loud, growling snarl, the Gronkle sent a burning stream of magma the twin’s way. The heat flared by his sides, and he flinched. He couldn’t help it.

The smoldering doorway of a house that was soon to fall down flashed past his mind. No time for weakness.

“Ruffnut! Tuffnut!” Gobber called from the sidelines, “You’re out!”

Ugh. Snotlout sneered (didn’t shudder) at the creature as he bolted away from the grumbling twins, towards Astrid on the other side of the ring. Evil beast. It had shot the twins, but he had been right there. If the thing had just chosen a different target…while his back was turned…

But no, it had been the twins. Good. Their elimination was a relief. Not that he’d ever, ever say so, but the twin’s shared litheness and ability to confuse just about anyone was intimidating, from a competitive standpoint. They pranked people all the time, and Snotlout would be the last to admit that the way they went about it was, like, actually kind of cool . Impressive. Thought through, in a way that they didn’t seem to bother with otherwise. Snotlout had been doing his best not to worry about the potential that those two could best him . It was unsettling to just think about.

Luckily, though, they were gone, out; which meant that the only two actual competitors left were. Oh. Were just him and… Astrid.

Snotlout smirked, turning to Astrid next to him as he proudly brandished his still perfectly fine shield, “Heh, imagine being eliminated like that,”

Astrid, like the stone-cold, badass warrior she was, ignored him, and Snotlout grinned. What to say… “Couldn’t be me. You know, I’ve got a whole training room all for myself ,”

The basement counted as a training area, right?

She glanced sideways, her pretty blonde hair swinging into her face. Hair she immediately blew off her forehead: aggressively. Astrid was so totally into him, it was crazy.

“ Oh yeah , a whole training room,” Snotlout bragged, wiping at the front of his vest, “My dad decided that I was just too much of a raw, manly viking to just live in a normal room. Too buff, and all that. You get it,”

“Oi, and those shields can be used for another thing!” Gobber pushed onward, gesturing with hand, this time, “Noise! Make lots of it to throw off the dragon’s aim!”

The sword! He knew he grabbed it for a reason. Snotlout wasted no time in immediately slamming the flat side of his blade on the round metal of the middle, the dinging sound loud and proud . He was good at this, after all!

The Gronkle hissed, wriggling its big head around. What an ugly thing…

“Now, all dragons have a limited number of shots,” Gobber moved forward, slowly—confidently—walking around the ring like an imitation of Dad’s lectures when he was having one of his moods, “Want to guess how many this beastie’s got?”

“Five?” Snotlout guessed with a flair of confidence, pausing his earsplitting banging on the shield to hear himself think for a second. (If anyone asked, his voice did not crack. It didn’t, especially since Astrid was right there. As if he cared about that nerdy stuff, anyway…)

Fishlegs, the loser butt that he was, practically wiggled his mace in the air and gave his whiny answer right after Snotlout’s; the overexcited dog , “No, six!”

“Correct, six!” Gobber nodded cheerfully, and Snotlout didn’t feel stupid. Not at all. “Tha’s one for each of you!”

The Gronkle took no time in taking that as a suggestion, if it could do that, and snarled, tossing a hot blast of magma Fishleg’s way. He yelped, a shrill thing, and froze in place, the lava hitting his shield. The yelp turned into a shriek, and he promptly dropped it.

“Haha…nerd,” Snotlout swallowed nervously, glancing at the charred ground. The ruined shield laid on the smoldering rock of the ground, Fishlegs whimpering and running away like a baby. Okay. At least he was second, if not the first out…and the Gronkle seemed interested in sniffing around his shield.

“Fishlegs, out,” Gobber noted off-handedly, turning to holler at a suspicious shape behind one of the wooden barriers set up around the ring, “Hiccup, get in there!” 

The barrier right next to Snotlout and Astrid, ugh. Of course he’d have to be near Hiccup: that guy had a habit of worming his way into everything. And he just couldn’t do it like any sane loser would, either. He always had to be right in the middle. (The five houses his torch incident had razed to ground was just a reminder.)

“ Anyway , I’m moving into my parent’s basement,” Snotlout continued pointedly into their earlier conversation, grinning handsomely at Astrid and hoping Hiccup saw how much better he was than him, “You--you should come over sometime to work out! You look like you work out!”

Astrid suddenly whipped her head around to look at him, eyes wide, shoulders tensing. Guess he really was that captivating. Nice .

A sudden burst of heat caught him by surprise, and he turned just in time to watch the slurry of magma close in on his face. Snotlout cried out-- a totally manly yell --and hunkered beneath his shield, flinching when it was blasted out of his hands.

Some of the spray caught itself on his unsuspecting fingers, and Snotlout scurried backwards, doing his best to not feel like a scurrying sheep. The narrowed eyes of the dragon, searing in his direction, didn’t help with trying not to feel like prey.

“Snotlout!” Gobber called out from…somewhere, “You’re done!’

Snotlout let out a loud groan, ignoring the embarrassing warmth in his cheeks, and picked himself back up off the ground. The battered shield laid on the ground next to him, the skull that had been painted on it now charred and ruined. Yikes…the painters weren’t gonna be happy about that.

“Guess it’s just you and me, huh?” Hiccup finally crawled out from behind the barrier, smiling all viking-next-door and ugh .

Forget the painters, Snotlout wasn’t happy about that. Of course Hiccup got to be next to Astrid in the heat of battle after he failed. Of course that guy got what he wanted, again . He grumbled, kicking at the shield shards, before turning to join the others in their sad lineup by the gate.

“Nope, just you,” Astrid spoke, the first thing she’d said since this whole “fight” started, and darted off. Of course she talked to Hiccup . Just his luck. Ugh.

Tuffnut snickered as he approached, and Fishlegs looked way too smug for a guy who just got blasted by a dragon . Probably laughing at his failure, because apparently everyone’s just doing that now.

Snotlout felt a little better when the Gronkle shot a ball of flames at Hiccup, who basically threw himself to the ground to avoid it. (Astrid was so smart, she moved out of the way before it was even coming. Thor, she was just so cool.)

“One shot left!” Gobber called, his voice snapping Snotlout out of his top secret, not girl-related thoughts. Ugh. As if Snotlout wasn’t already ashamed. One shot left, the man didn’t say, One shot left, because Snotlout failed . Again. Didn’t dodge the dragon, didn’t do anything about it. Just shot and “killed,”

Gobber was right; Snotlout was done .

Maybe that’s why, as the Gronkle closed in on Hiccup, Snotlout just…didn’t feel that bad for him, even as Fishlegs whimpered in horror. Maybe they’d be better off, without Hiccup. (His dad certainly seemed to think that, anyway.)

“Hiccup!” Gobber shouted, a moment of worry breaking through the otherwise unstoppable man, hobbling over.

The Gronkle reared its thick head upwards, a hissing, grumbling hacking in the back of its throat. Hiccup flinched away, his tiny shoulders crowding against the rough stone. Snotlout wasn’t scared for him.

Gobber lunged, his hook sinking into the dragon’s mouth as it flared a terrible red, hacking up its lava. Hiccup yelped, pressing himself so far into the wall he might as well just become a rock.

The shot sent itself to the wall next to him, instead. Unfortunately. 

“And that’s six!” Gobber declared, not without a sideways glance at Hiccup.

Ruffnut groaned dramatically, whining to Tuffnut about a ‘lack of drama” or whatever, and Gobber continued to latch onto the dragon, hurling himself around in effort to get the thing to move. 

“Get back in yer cage, ya overgrown sausage!” The Gronkle fought him, but the hook sunk into its maw was enough of an enforcer to have Gobber finally maneuver the thing back into its cell. Metal slid back into place over the giant metal door with a groaning shriek, and it was over. “You’ll get another chance, don’t you worry,”

It was unclear if he was talking to them, the Vikings, or the dragon that just tried to kill them six times over. Great …

“Now, remember,” Gobber spoke without hesitation, leaving no time for annoying questions like, “ are you actually trying to kill us?? ” 

However, his words held a heavy weight to them, and Snotlout straightened at the shift in tone, “A dragon will always--”

Gobber shot a reprimanding glance at Hiccup, who was pinpoint-straight where he sat, eyes wide, “-- always --”

“Go for the kill,”

Chapter Text

Snotlout should be upset that he didn’t exactly “pass” dragon training today. He would be upset, if everyone else hadn’t lost either. (Except for Astrid, who was the coolest, most awesome ever, and he expected nothing less from her.) And Hiccup…

The loser lost. What else was new?

It had been funny, to watch Hiccup fail. To watch as he, specifically, got reprimanded in front of everyone else. Good . That punching bag of a “Viking” had been getting too smug lately. Every time that guy opened his mouth it was to say something even more sarcastic than the twins, and that was a challenge .

And, for the record, Snotlout wasn’t upset that Hiccup talked to Astrid and actually had her respond to him. Why would anyone think that? He just…despised Hiccup, that was all. Everyone else did, so why wouldn’t he?

Because, to put it simply: Hiccup Haddock ruined everything, and Snotlout wanted dragon training, at least, to be the exception. Like, he wanted that guy out of it. (Yes, ruined everything. Dragon raids ending without being blown up or on fire, becoming the blacksmith’s apprentice, becoming chief. Hiccup Haddock was alive, and that had become one of Snotlout’s biggest annoyances.)

Hiccup made his final mess with the Gronkle, didn’t die (unfortunately), and Gobber had finished his lesson with that stern gaze of his. That biting line about dragons “always going for the kill.”

Of course they do! What, dragons, not being violent? Snotlout didn’t think that was possible, even with their own devilish spawn. He was sure that dragons popped out of the egg biting and ready to devour an innocent man. (...Dragons had eggs, right? Like chickens? That sounded wrong…)

 And, because what else would happen, Gobber wasted no time in waving everyone off after that. Couldn’t be bothered to give the rest of them a second personal word. Hiccup got all the attention, just like always. Ugh.

“All righ’ you buggers,” Gobber had waved a hooked arm, stringy braids swinging with the motion, “Get outta here—we’ll have a righ’ full review this evenin,”

As soon as the words had left the man’s singular stone-toothed mouth, Hiccup had run for the hills. Literally. Skinny little legs tripping all over themselves and everything. Snotlout had just watched him, incredulously, as the rest of them made their way down the path back to town, because…Hiccup was just. So weird, actually. Annoying, absolutely, but weird. Odd in a way that even the twins weren’t.

Like, of course everyone knew Hiccup was weird. Snotlout knew Hiccup was weird in the way a child thought owls were dangerous: they’d hear the myths of the omens and fear that they’d die if they heard them. Like the way someone feared a giant ocean wave, even if they’d never sailed a day in their life. Everyone just knew. Not that Snotlout was afraid of Hiccup, no. Why would he be? That was just a meat-aphor or something…that’s what they were called, right? Ooh, meat. Snotlout was pretty hungry, actually. The training had started right before he’d gotten to eat lunch today. Haha, that meant Fishlegs didn’t get to eat his fifteenth breakfast or whatever. Loser.

Tuffnut suddenly knocked into his side, snorting, an arm coming up to sink onto Snotlout’s (admittedly lower than his, he hated being short) shoulder, “Maaan, watching you get your butt kicked was pretty funny today,”

“ Oh yeah, keep it up,” Ruffnut sneered, suddenly on his other side, “It made you look like such a loser,”

“Tut tut, great show!” Tuffnut praised, his air of pompousness swinging back in full force, even if he was developing a rather large bruise on his face.

“Sure, as soon as you stop being so ugly all the time,” Snotlout said, meeting the lanky freak’s eyes, his face screwing up in a very justified disgust, “Maybe a shield to the nose is what you needed to fix it, after all,”

“Aaaah, coming from a guy whose head looks like it was pulled from a stone wall?” Tuffnut leaned in, his elbow digging uncomfortably into Snotlout’s shoulder. He couldn’t push him off, though. That’d be weak. Lame.

Wait, a stone wall?? Rude.

“Oh yeah? Well, uh. That’s. Stupid. You’re stupid,” Snotlout said, like the Viking warrior he very much was, grinning spitefully, “And… you look like you were stretched at birth,”

Tuffnut leaned forward to meet Ruffnut’s eyes from across Snotlout, looking at each other for no longer than a second before bursting out laughing. His elbow left Snotlout’s shoulder, and the guy practically fell over, the two’s laughter loud and pitchy. Like a pack of really annoying wolves.

Good. They should laugh. Snotlout was funny. So funny, actually. The funniest.

Fishlegs shot the three of them a weary glance from where he was walking in front of them, not far from Astrid’s position in the lead of the group. Why did he get to walk near Astrid?

“Well, if I was bad today, then Fishlegs was definitely worse, right?” Snotlout pointed mirthfully at the other, grinning, “All your little numbers don’t matter in the face of a real dragon after all, huh, Fishboy?”

“...don’t call me that…” Fishlegs whimpered, shrinking away from them and closer to Astrid. He really was one of the most pathetic people Snotlout had ever met. And he knew Hiccup. (Ugh.)

“What was that, Fishbutt?” Snotlout jeered again, feeling better already, “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you peeing your pants over there. Which is weird! I thought you’d be potty-trained by now,”

The twins laughed uproarously next to him, their tone shifting from… something to actual glee. They had all sorts of those different laughs, each switching at the same time on a whim. It was like they planned it, each time. Weirdos…

“...I…um,” Fishlegs practically stopped in place, he slowed so dramatically, “...I am . I wouldn’t…do that,”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Fishboy,” Snotlout waved him off, walking ahead of him. Now he’s closer to Astrid. Haha. “No one wants to hear you talk, anyway,”

Ruffnut butted in, leaning back to look at the guy, “Yeah, if you say one more thing about bite blass or whatever I’m gonna bite you,”

“Ew, cooties,” Tuffnut wrinkled his nose, wiping his hands on the front of his tunic, “D’you think he’d taste like fish?”

“Will all of you shut up?” Astrid whipped around, glaring at all of them, her pretty braid swung with enough force to hit her own pretty face.

Snotlout tensed, her blue eyes grazing over him as she scoffed and looked away, she was looking at him, “Yes, ma’am!”

Astrid glared at him, (and oh Thor her eyes were on him again), before huffing and stomping away, muttering about her axe. Of course she had her own axe. She’d been sharpening it since birth, probably. That seemed to fit her whole violent, amazing thing.

Ruffnut groaned, bored the second their teasing stopped, “What are you, a lonely ram?”

“Ughhh, you’re so whipped for her it’s gross,” Tuffnut squinted at Snotlout, getting all up in his face as if he could see the gross on it.

“Hey!” Snotlout yelped as he jolted away, stealing a wary glance at the quickly walking away Astrid, “Wait…what does whipped even mean?”

He glanced confusedly at Tuffnut, “Like whipping cream?”

Ruffnut began laughing again as Tuffnut just stared at him.

-----------------------------------------

The mead hall was as big and beautiful as ever. As if it would be anything else. Grand, proud. As a true Viking hall should be. 

The food…maybe not the best. Bland-looking stew and a few wimpy greens (not that he’d be touching those much). Regardless, though. Snotlout couldn’t blame whoever made it today.

Not every Viking had left on that one dragon nest expedition, but the lack of booming, cheerful voices during dinnertime was shocking enough. Gone was the chief at the head of the highest table, gone was his own father laughing uproarously near him. Gobber usually sat near them, too. It must be weird. Snotlout knew it was for him.

He was almost embarrassingly used to looking at that table. Knowing, someday, that he would take his father’s place there. Maybe even the chief’s, if Hiccup ever got around to actually dying. (Thor, he despised that guy.) All the council members looked so happy. So fulfilled. He wondered what it was like, to be that cool.

Their small dinner table was already pretty full when he approached, the twins wrestling about something or other. Astrid was in the middle of the bench on her side, unbothered and beautiful as always, while Fishlegs muttered away at some little book on the opposite end of the table. He was such a weirdo.

Snotlout casually made his way over to the bench next to Astrid and sat down before he could lose his nerve. What do you say to someone who was basically the best thing you could be? Astrid was so amazing, Snotlout just wanted her all for himself. And just…why? Why didn’t she seem to feel the same, sometimes?

“...Hey, good work today!” Snotlout grinned at her from where she sat, eating focusedly. How did she eat with purpose? “Nice, uh, flip, earlier, haha,”

She said nothing, as usual. Astrid saying anything to him was like a lightning strike on a clear day. (Man, he was getting good at these meat-a-pour things.) But it…it hurt him more than he’d ever admit, sometimes.

It used to be different when they were younger. She would talk to him more back then, when they were little kids playing in the mud. Snotlout wished he knew what changed. Sometimes, he just missed when they felt like friends. Good ol’ I’ll-shove-you-into-the-mud friends. But, eh. She’d come around eventually. She just… had to. Snotlout didn’t know what he’d do otherwise.

He turned back to his stew, lifting it to his mouth for a taste. Bland. Very bland. Pretty much what he expected, but. Oh well. Food was food, and if he had stew in his mouth he didn’t have to talk. (Shouldn’t talk, with his mouth full. That’s what his mom would say, anyway.)

“Where’d you even learn to do all that?” Snotlout peered at Astrid again, setting his spoon down in thought, “Have you been--uh, training like I have or something?”

“Oh, you’ve been training?” Ruffnut suddenly snorted from the other end of the table, Tuffnut’s head being squeezed under her arms. He had no idea what they had been fighting about, but it was nothing new. The twins fought each other like feral hogs. No one ever won, and no one could stop them from trying.

Tuffnut laughed, mildly muffled, what with the strangling and all, “No way,”

Snotlout gasped affrontedly, “Uh! I have so!”

“Have not,” Tuffnut shot back mirthfully, before bashing his head into the table. To get Ruff off, apparently, who yelled when Tuffnut went and socked her in the arm the second he was free.

“Have so,” Snotlout declared again, narrowing his eyes and leaning across the table. If he wanted to play this game, he was so in. He was gonna crush that guy.

“Nu-uh,” Tuffnut continued, Ruffnut falling off the bench after a suspiciously Tuffnut-seeming kick.

“Yeah huh!” Snotlout yelled at him. Snotlouut was cool, and he trains, and he’s awesome. So awesome, in fact, that Tuffnut just couldn’t possibly understand the sheer power of. Him.

Tuffnut grinned, wide and unsettling, and leaned so far forward on the table he was practically climbing on it, “...Nuh. Uh.”

“I’m gonna get you for real this time!” Ruffnut popped up from under the table, launching herself across the table to attempt to wring her twin’s neck, who was cackling madly. Like a madman. Because he was. Freaky and mad and insane. Also, wrong, by the way! Because Snotlout did train, okay? (Not. That he’d been doing it recently. Or. Ever. But it was the thought that counted, right? Or something…)

Astrid pulled away from the table with a sigh, watching the twins like they were interesting rams trying to poke each other’s eyes out. Wary; prepared to stop them from gutting one another. Not opposed to them tiring themselves out, though.

“Ow! Mean!” Tuffnut yelled, rolling off the table and landing on the floor with an undignified yelp, “My eye! AGH, I hate girls!”

Maybe rams weren’t the only creatures that poked each other’s eyes out after all…

“Well, I do train, thank you,” Snotlout crossed his arms decisively, sniffing in pride. Tuffnut was too busy whining about how “very much hurt” he was to disagree, and Ruffnut just shrugged.

“Sure you do,” Ruffnut agreed amicably. Too easily. Suspiciously easily. Snotlout shot her a look. The twins didn’t agree with him about anything. Laugh and jeer and push him on, sure. But not agree. Not unless it was something Loki-prank related.

“Right,” He nodded, eyeing her warily, “I do,”

“Right,” Ruffnut nodded back, eyes suddenly wide and blank, “You do.”

Snotlout edged backwards in his seat, suddenly very uncomfortable. Not. Not that Ruffnut could ever scare him, he was too manly and awesome for that, but. Yeah. Um, “Uh-huh,”

“Uh huh,” Ruffed nodded again. She just sat there and stared at him. For. Way too long. It was freaky. Ruffnut was freaky. Ew.

“When boars fly,” She nodded again, as if having settled the matter.

“Uh hu-- what !?” Snotlout protested, “Rude!”

“Nahhhhh,” Tuffnut popped his head up from under the table, suddenly perfectly fine, before glaring testily at Ruffnut, “Also, never copy my fantastic techniques again. I will kill you in cold blood,”

“Your blood’s already cold, stupid,” Ruffnut snorted, settling on the edge of the table and crossing one leg over the other. Her boot thwacked into Fishlegs, and she ignored his wimpy yelp, “We’re cold-blooded,”

“That’s actualy even true!” Fishlegs suddenly butted in, leaning forward so Ruffnut’s boot wasn’t cutting so deeply into his ribs, “I’ve been reading one of Gothi’s journals, and apparently our blood naturally regulates temp--”

“ ‘Urm, Actually our blood baking regalia’--shut up, Fishface,” Snotlout jeered, kicking at his legs from under the table and grinning when he hit one. Fishlegs’ face contorted into a perpetual kind of grimace as he yelped.

“Baking-- Regalia ?? I didn’t even say that! How do you even--” Fishlegs whined at him. Like the whiner he was. Whiny loser.

“Weh meh meh, whateverrrr,” Snotlout mocked him, picking up his stew bowl to drink the rest of his (neglected) broth. It was still bland, but drinking the broth as a whole, you could taste more of the lamb in it. Pretty good. Snotlout liked it when it was actually his village eating their sheep, than the dragons. Y’know, how it’s supposed to be. Fair.

One of the giant hall doors swung open, inturrupting the noise, and everyone at the table paused to look over. There weren’t many people left, after all. Had Gobber gotten there already? It seemed a little early, but Snotlout could always eat more later…

Oh. Ugh. No. 

Hiccup let the door swing closed behind him as he tentatively shuffled over to the stewpot in the center of the hall, grabbing a bowl off the stack as he approached. Snotlout was surprised that guy even ate …but anyway, where had he even been? As soon as the lesson ended he ran away like he had something to hide…maybe he was just hiding himself out of shame. 

Hah, yeah, probably shame. That guy didn’t have any secrets to hide. Hiccup could never be that interesting.

Hiccup quickly started spooing some broth into his bowl, too big for just one hand so it had to be cradled to his chest like a stupid baby. He winced when a lamb chunk fell off the spoon and splashed in his face. Snotlout snorted, turning away from the sight. Imagine not being able to serve yourself dinner even when you’ve got both hands… lame.

The worst part about Hiccup? He didn’t even have a reason to be a loser. That was the part that Snotlout found the most annoying. The guy had basically everything that anyone could ever want, and he was just some wimpy, lanky, sarcastic fishbone of a person. Hiccup was pretty much the exact worst example of what a Viking should be, actually! But. But! There he was, next in line to become chief. It was so not cool. Just about the lamest thing in all of Midguard. Ugh.

The rest of them had fallen relatively silent, some still watching the sorry sight like a personal show. And. Not talking. Snotlout didn’t like it. It made the empty mead hall feel even more empty. Hollow. 

Fishlegs continued to mutter about in his journal, though he wasn’t being so loud about it, now. Seriously? Yeah, the one time Snotlout wanted someone to fill the noise and the gum flapper couldn’t be bothered.

“What, no hello?” Snotlout finally called out, leaning back to lock onto Hiccup’s hunched shoulders as he was grabbing a slice of bread, “C’mon, Hiccup. Cuz. Don’t be a wimp, like always,”

“Uh,” Hiccup froze in place, broth dripping down his weirdly dirt-covered front.

“Yeah, I won’t bite,” Ruffnut leered at him, balancing her hands on her knees. At least someone else was willing to fill the silence even if Snotlout, of course, did it first. Because he was awesome and cool. And awesome. People should be remembering that.

“Unless you talk about dragon facts,” Fishlegs muttered under his breath. Tuffnut, because he was a freak of nature (and also laying next to him), also heard him and barked out a laugh.

“Oh, the fish can be sassy!” Tuffnut crawled up from where he’d just been lying on the floor to poke Fishlegs violently in the side, “Maybe I like this guy after all,”

“Um…what?” Fishlegs squeaked, scooching as far over as he possibly could on the bench. Not that it mattered; Tuffnut just kept poking him. Good luck trying to throw off the twins. Either one of them, really. They were, weirdly enough, the most bloodthirsty, in a meat-a-phorical sense.

“Yep!” Tuffnut declared, lifting the previously poking finger in the air as if he was unveiling a great secret, “I hath decided: we shat be keeping you,”

“Ughhhhh,” Ruffnut groaned, sagging forward, “Why do you get to decide who we’re keeping and why are they never fun,”

“You mean shalt ?” Fishlegs inturrupted, looking incredibly confused. And concerned… Yeah, he definetely looked terrified for his life, “You meant shalt, right? Not…not…the other thing,”

Tuffnut began to cackle again, full on punching Fishbutt in the shoulder. Was that behavior from someone who was crazy, or just insane? If Snotlout ever understood the twins, then he’d rather be dead, probably. Being insane sounded really lame.

Fishlegs looked at least a little sick to his stomach. He probably also thought he was going crazy. Well. If he threw up from the strain it would probably be pretty funny. Maybe Tuffnut could just hit him harder…

The door slammed open again. Big, booming. Important -sounding. Snotlout straightened, taking his eyes off the hostage situation to see who it was. Again, not many people were still around. It had to be Gobber, this time...

“Al’ righ’ then,” Gobber walked in, his mismatched gait sending him over to the table, “You’ve eaten and all that, yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Snotlout tilted his bowl to show the man, wincing when some broth fell out. Guess he didn’t exactly…eat all of it, then. Uh. Yikes.

“Nice one, dumbass,” Ruffnut snickered, climbing back down off the table to return to the bench. Tuffnut snorted, scooting away from Fishlegs, who let out a sigh of relief, and finally sat down as well.

In fact, he scooted over so far that Ruffnut just fell off, and she started yelling, “Ugh! You’re so annoying!”

Tuff just laughed in her fallen face, leaning over the table to get a better look, “How’s the weather down there? Smelling as gross as Snotlout yet?”

“Hey!” Snotlout yelped indiginately. Rude! Why were they always on his case! He just…didn’t…have time to shower earlier, that was all! Not that he didn’t feel like it and just laid down to take a nap. That. Didn’t sound like him…

“Righ,” Gobber continued, face entirely blank, “Movin’ along, then,”

“Yes sir,” Astrid nodded determinedly, her beautiful, blue eyes bright and attentive. How come she never looked at Snotlout like that? Like she was paying attention…

“Oi, and Hiccup!” Gobber suddenly called across the mead hall, beckoning the small boy over in a grand wave of his hook, “Come sit over here. No use doin’ a review if ya can’t even hear it,”

Hiccup jolted so hard he almost fell off his seat in that little shame corner of his, head whipping around to stare at him like a ram in a dragon’s claws. (Yes, another meat-a-phor! He was really getting the hang of this stuff; Mom was gonna be so proud of him.) “Oh…”

“Yeh, ‘oh’,” Gobber echoed, an annoying amount of warmth on his face. Don’t tell Snotlout that Gobber actually liked Hiccup. That Gobber didn’t think the guy was one of the worst Vikings to ever walk the ground of Berk. Come on. Why ? Hiccup existing was not fair. 

Hiccup halfheartedly rose from his sad little shame bench and shuffled over to their table. His bowl was cupped in both of his hands, and it didn’t seem like it had much in it at all. Guess he had gotten to eat, then--and ate fast, too. Weird. The wimp made eye contact with him and quickly did his best to look away, which was good. Snotlout didn’t really want to see him, either. Or ever. Didn’t want to see him ever.

“Ugh, I have to sit next to that guy?” Snotlout complained, glaring up at the ceiling as he rolled his eyes. Hiccup wasn’t fair, and he didn’t want to be, either. He could be mean all he wanted, when the target was someone who had literally stolen the opportunity to be chief away from him. Tuffnut didn’t try to bother hiding his snicker, and Ruffnut grinned. At least someone agreed. Hiccup was an unpleasant barnacle on all of their hulls.

Gobber waved a hand, beckoning Hiccup closer, and sending a pointed look Snotlout’s way, “He won’t kill ya, lad, come on now,”

“As if he ever could,” Snotlout snorted, finally settling into having his head in his hands as he watched his cousin tentatively sit at the end of Fishleg’s bunch; Hiccup sent the guy a tentative, awkward grin. It was toothy and looked fake as all hels. A loser and a liar. 

He snuck a glance at Fishlegs, who looked a lot less upset about Hiccup being nearby than anyone ever should. Of course Fishlegs wouldn’t mind Hiccup being around. They were both absolute, total losers, even if Fishlegs could be useful occasionally. Nerds, if annoying, could be useful, but the only thing Hiccup even wanted to be nerdy about was making weird inventions that almost always blew something up. 

“Well, since yeh’ve been so wordy already, why don’t we start with you, Snotlout?” Gobber began, drawing all eyes at the table back to him as his voice echoed in the empty mead hall. He was first? Oh yeah, he was definitely cooler than everybody here.

“Oh yeah,” Snotlout straightened in his seat, grinning proudly. He didn’t know what the point of a review even was, but he was gonna be the best at it.

“How did Snotlout have his, eh, unfortunate ‘death’ today, then?” Gobber looked around the table, a searching glint in his eyes, “How did he make that mess a’ his?”

What? Snotlout didn’t want to hear about his mistakes. Was this what a review was? If so, he didn’t like it. His dad did this all the time without the

training, thanks. And besides, no matter how he messed up, he just wanted to try again. What was the point of bringing every little thing back up again, anyway? 

He just…wouldn’t mess up next time. It was that easy.

“He’s a dumbass,” Ruffnut offered off-handedly, sounding bored already. Lectures were not her thing: she typically tried to attack the speaker.

Tuffnut grinned, staring down Snotlout from across the table, “His head is way too big,”

“Hey! What was that for?” Snotlout whine-- demanded to know. Like a man. Asked, like a. Like a manly warrior of a Viking. Yeah.

“An’ thas’ why ya’ don’ have kids…” Gobber let out a heavy sigh, raising a hand to pinch at his nose, before pausing and letting out a bark of a laugh,  “Well, tha’ and one other reason,”

“Not th’ point of this, you lot,” Gobber waved a hand around, clearing his throat amidst the blank stares of his charges, “Alright, then! How did Astrid go wrong today?”

“I mistimed my somersault dive. It was sloppy,” Offered Astrid immediately, an intense furrow on her pretty brow. She seemed really frustrated, “It threw off my reverse tumble,”

Ruffnut let out a groan, before pouting sarcastically, “Yeah, we noticed,”

“Hey!” Snotlout yelped on her behalf, the comment about his head before still a little stinging. He did not have a big head. He was. He was just smart, that was all! And no one should be out here insulting Astrid, come on. If anyone deserved to just be praised for today, it was her; she didn’t need to have mistakes thrown back in her face.

“No, no, you were great!” Snotlout turned to her, a big smile on his face as he waved his hands around. He didn’t even have to lie like he did about his mom’s pie! “That was so ‘Astrid ’ of you,”

“No, she’s right, you have to be hard on yourselves,” Gobber scratched at his stone tooth, before his gaze landed on the newest member of the table, “Where did Hiccup go wrong?’

“Uh, he showed up?” Ruffnut said almost immediately, looking over spitefully at the fishbone. Hiccup hunched over, a grimace on his always-frowning face. Snotlout had never seen that guy happy.

Tuffnut jumped in the second she was done, raising his hand and violently waving it around the air, definitely smacking Fishlegs in the face, “He didn’t get eaten?”

Snotlout snorted behind his hand, trying to hide the grin on his face. He didn’t want Gobber to give him that look again…

.Not that he was scared of Gobber. Or Gobber being upset with him. That would be stupid. Yeah. So he wasn’t scared, because he wasn’t stupid.

“He’s never where he should be,” Astrid’s voice rang out, clear as a bell, between the laughs of the three of them, and Snotlout wilted a little. She was…taking this seriously. Damn it. Was he supposed to be that serious about everything too?

“Thank you, Astrid,” Gobber nodded approvingly, sending yet another pointed look at the rest of them, “You lot need to live and breathe all a’ this, ya know,”

He suddenly reached into the leather satchel that was looped around his belt, pulling the strings loose and sticking a hand in it. Out came a large, also leather-bound journal, and the table went silent. It looked important.

Gobber gave it a small toss and it landed on the wood with a thud, the golden lettering and single emblem glistening in the firelight.

“The Dragon Manual. Everything we know about every dragon we know of,” The man spoke heavily, the words resting heavily on Snotlout’s shoulders. He thought it felt like a scene from one of Mom’s books.

Oh yeah. He was ready. This felt important. Big. The manual, as he stared at it from across the table, meant business. Meant that he was finally going to take this seriously.

A large clap of thunder shook the mead hall, startling everyone, not just him, okay? Gobber shook his head as he glanced upwards, “Tha’s no attacks tonight. Read up, then,”

Um. What.

“Wait, you mean read ?” Tuffnut yelled in utter shock at Gobber’s amused face, leaning so far backwards in recoil he nearly sent himself off the bench. It was okay, he used Fishlegs for leverage. (And nearly sent the guy overboard with him with a yelp.)

Ruffnut groaned in utter agony, leaning into the table and smacking her palms against it, “While we’re still alive ?”

Snotlout was just as upset and confused as the twins. What did Gobber mean? What was the point? “Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tell you stuff about?”

Gobber just snorted, turning with a hand wave as goodbye. His steps eventually trailed off towards the entrance, the sound of it echoing throughout the hall. He swung the heavy wooden door open, the rain howling against the wind, and began to shrug through it. 

As he left, the lighting crackled again, painting his back in color before the door shut, heavy and loud, behind him.

“Oh! I’ve read it like, seven times!” Fishlegs, of course, was ecstatic, and leaned forward as if he was imparting some great holy wisdom straight from Thor himself. The words were tripping over his mouth with how fast he started talking, “There's this water dragon that sprays boiling water at your face! And--And there's this other one that buries itself for like a week --”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Tuffnut broke through the nerd cloud of nerdville that was happening, grinning placatingly and leaning in to jab Fishlegs in the ribs, “See, there was a chance I was going to read that…”

Ruffnut was not amused, glancing away with a sigh as if even the thought of reading was making her bones bored, “But, now…”

Snotlout agreed with the sentiment, jolting out of his seat. He was so totally leaving. He didn’t care how helpful the book might be, (which, it was a book. So, not likely. Books were for bread and old, dusty tribe tales.), he would not be cracking that thing open, “Yeah, you guys read, I’ll go kill stuff,”

Tuffnut and Ruffnut wasted no time in flinging themselves from their benches, grins already on their faces at the thought of skipping out on something boring. And, notice, they followed Snotlout’s lead. He was cool like that.

Snotlout continued to the door, sighing heavily when Fishlegs hastily moved away from the table to join them, yapping all the way, “Oh, and there's this other one that has these spines that look like trees… ”

“I, for one, am glad to be outta there,” Tuffnut raised a hand, and promptly pushed Ruffnut over, grinning as she yelled, “Got ya,”

Ruffnut, from her spot on the slightly rainy floor, screeched at him, “I’m gonna kill you!”

Fishlegs continued rambling, not stopping, even as Snotlout shoved the door open, even as he was forced to pause for breath, “And, and, there’s speculation that one of them, it has these four heads, and it makes itself smell like chocolate --”

“Ew, dragon chocolate,” Tuffnut wrinkled his nose, quickly joining them in the rain as Ruffnut howled after him. She clambered to her feet, surging forward and tackling Tuffnut out into the mud. The puddle of water in front of the hall was deep--the dip in the ground pretty large. Was it because it was old, or something? Maybe the ground thought the mead hall was so important it wanted to give it more space, or something. No. That’s stupid. The mead hall wasn't that big.

Regardless, the mud that had been piling up in it was enough to come splashing upwards when Tuffnut landed in it, sending a wave of gunk towards all of them. It landed on his shoes, his tunic, his face. Ew.

“I despise you,” Tuffnut glared from his puddle, his blonde hair now an ugly shade of mud. 

Great. Snotlout had to do laundry. Again. He was so going to pummel everyone in dragon training tomorrow. You know. As revenge. 

Except Astrid, because he had a plan. Yep, a plan. Crazy. This time tomorrow, she was gonna be so totally swooning for him, it’ll be crazy.

Because Snotlout was awesome, and he was going to make sure that everyone knew.

Chapter Text

The best part about his parents being gone was that Snotlout could, basically, do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It was the kind of liberty that had him feeling like a true Viking. He was free. Independent. No one could stop him from being cool and awesome and cool now, haha. Why would he bother sweeping the hearth? Dust the old, charred shields and ceremonial axe? It’s not like his dad would mythically appear out of thin air to reprimand him for it. There were no restrictions. No boundaries. No rules. No need to wake up with his dad at mega-early in the morning. Chores were a thing of the past—relaxation was so in.

Oh yeah, that was right. Snotlout was sleeping in, and it was awesome. And he didn't feel ashamed about it or anything, totally not: because, honestly, the sheer lack of dragons last night was a blessing of Thor, and who was Snotlout to ignore permission straight from the gods? (Despite the appearance of them in the…book. Ugh. Reading. Imagine.)

Anyway, his covers were warm, his cushion was cool, the world wasn’t on fire, and everything was great. Awesome, even. Except…

Snotlout peeked an eye open to sneer over his covers at the pile of muddy clothes by his bed. When Ruffnut had thrown Tuff into that mud pile, Snotlout had gotten covered, too. Because of course, why not? He’d had to go to bed even later last night, since he’d been so busy scrubbing the mud off himself. It was so... lame. Not even Hiccup got covered in mud, since he was so busy being a nerd. Unfair.

 The worst part, though, was that he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Goodbye, freedom. Goodbye, bed. Goodbye, rest. Snotlout missed all of them already. He would bid them all goodbye, grandly, not crying on an ocean cliff like a man.

…He had to do laundry. Actually. Seriously. Snotlout literally could not ignore it this time, unless he wanted to show up to dragon training looking boring. The twins would poke at him relentlessly. The only clothes he had that weren’t covered in ash, mud and dragon stink were old. And worn. And ugly. If Astrid ever saw him in the basic, droopy tunic he had left over from his older cousin Spikelout, he would have to die, probably. (Him or his cousin, he wasn’t sure. It was Spikelout’s fault he had that tunic, and the guy was annoying, anyway…).

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The worst part about his parents being gone was that he had to do everything himself. Straighten his own bed. Do his own laundry. Make his own breakfast, since mead hall mealtimes had been reduced to dinners exclusively, to avoid food shortages later on. Which Snotlout found weird. When everyone came back from the trip, couldn’t they all just…make more food? More sheep?...That’s how that worked, right? The lack of effort just didn’t make sense. Weren’t Vikings supposed to be unstoppable? 

Unstoppable. He’d be like that, someday. No one would be able to tell him what to do, where to be, how to be. One day, Snotlout would be as unquestionable and powerful as his dad, and everyone would have to admit that he was pretty much the best, ever.

But. For now…

Today’s sky was clear, the day was warm, and Snotlout was pissed off.

He had spent an entire hour scrubbing at his clothes to get all the gross out of them. A Whole. Hour. At some point it had to be an offensable sin against the gods, to clean for so long. A sin that he was forced to commit, via washbasin and his own, now pruny hands. He hated having the water wrinkled skin--it was just gross and weird. Snotlout was many things, but he refused to be gross and weird. That was the twin’s job.

Ughhhhh but Snotlout’s job today had been laundry, and he’d had to stitch up all the charred holes from the fire that night. All over the right shoulder and side, pockmarked holes that had been a nightmare to darn. His mom would be disappointed if he didn’t fix them, though. (He would be, too. It would mean he’d just have to throw his favorite tunic away…) Snotlout was capable of everything, though; he was more than capable of fixing his own clothes. Obviously. (Not that he’d ever, ever tell anyone that. Imagine the horror show that would be. Tuffnut would call him one of those housewives from the wimpy Northlands, and Ruffnut would tackle the guy again…actually, that would be pretty funny. Hm.)

Snotlout squinted his eyes up at the sun, not yet halfway up into noon. Training today was probably still right after noon. Probably. Hopefully. Showing up before time would be a very loser thing to do, even for him. Tuffnut would call him an overexcited dog and Ruffnut would just laugh, if they found him waiting there before anyone else. Being early was for the worried and the weak.

But, anyway. He glared down at the clothing basin in his hands, still full of soggy tunics and pants. Buried underneath them were his boots, too. His boots. The mud had soaked them so thoroughly he’d had to scrub them, too. Ugh and double ugh.

All the scrubbing was over now, though, and the most annoying part had to happen. Drying.

 The clothesline was rough under his hands, and he reached, reached up to the clothing line hook his mom had installed a few years ago. She wasn’t taller than him. She wasn’t! Snotlout was big and strong and tall and could hang his own clothesline. He could. (He was. He was just growing, that was all.)

Holding the clothesline in one hand, Snotlout tossed the clothesbasket down with the other and kicked it to stay upright. Which. It, uh. Didn’t.

“Oh, come on,” Snotlout glared at the wet clothes on the dirty ground, frown turning into a toothy grimace. He just washed those. Now he was gonna have to at least dunk them all over again.

Somehow, this was Hiccup’s fault.

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Snotlout wasn’t early. (At least, he wasn’t the first person there, anyway.) Astrid had been lined up—front and center—by the arena’s entrance like the badass she was, Fishlegs close by as if she was a guard dog. (Ugh, that guy.) Hiccup and the twins were nowhere to be seen, but that was nothing new. The wimp was probably gonna show up late, and the twins were probably gonna show up even later. (Snotlout wasn’t sure why they even applied for dragon training. They didn’t really seem to care if they lived or died too badly, based on all the things they pull…)

“Hey,” Snotlout smirked at only Astrid, (Fishlegs could just go die in a hole for all he cared, honestly), “How’s it going, babe?”

“Oh, ugh,” Astrid rolled her eyes, leaning away from Fishlegs on the wall as Snotlout walked forward. Yeah, he wouldn’t want to be standing next to Fishlegs either. That guy had a one to one chance of starting to talk anyone’s ear off about something or other that he’d learned—he both never made sense and also never talked about anything actually interesting, and he never seemed to get that no one cared.

 Her hair fell into her face and she brushed it away aggressively, refusing to make eye contact. Man, he must be looking good, if she can’t even bear to look at him. (Snotlout knew he was being smart by wearing his favorite tunic again.) Though, of course, he always looked good. Jorgensen genes, his dad would say. 

“Are you and Astrid actually…” Fishlegs squinted at Snotlout, looking far too bewildered by perfect, handsome Snotlout being with perfect, gorgeous Astrid. Snotlout glared at him. Because. Well. 

Maybe they weren’t together, exactly, but that didn’t mean Snotlout wasn’t trying. He was. He was trying, like, really hard . Girls were just weird, okay?!

“You’re joking, right?” Astrid stared blankly at Fishlegs, cold blue eyes an icy chill down both of their spines (Astrid was scary no matter how close they were, okay?), “Tell me you’re joking,”

Immediately terrified for his life, Fishlegs scooted away from her on the wall. So much for a guard dog, loser. Snotlout shot a smarmy grin at Astrid—good on her for putting that guy back in his place. Of course they’d be good together. He was glad that she at least recognized that, even if she didn’t want to actually do anything about it. Maybe…maybe she was shy?

But no, that was ridiculous; Astrid was awesome. She couldn’t be scared of anything. (Except death. And maybe dragons. But, to be fair, Snotlout didn’t know anyone that wasn’t scared of all that except for maybe the chief. Stoick the Vast was a legendary sort of person for a reason.)

Astrid was probably just waiting until dragon training was over to let him make his move. Super noble of her, and all that, even if it was annoying. Just imagining how cool of a power couple they would be made his heart flutter. How cool he’d be by associatio—how cool she’d be, next to him. Because he was awesome, and Astrid was more than being cool. 

She was awesome. The best of the best. No doubt, the perfect candidate to be beside the next chief: Snotlout. Hopefully. Snotlout was really hoping Hiccup managed to die soon; literally all of his dreams would come true, wrapped up into one measly death. That would be pretty awesome, too. It wasn’t like the chief had any more children, or had gotten remarried since…that whole thing with his wife had happened, or something. So definitely no more Hiccups to run around and ruin Snotlout’s life.

All it took was for Hiccup to just…be gone. Everyone was baffled that he hadn’t died already, honestly, and didn’t seem to expect him to exactly be a good chief. Maybe, one day, Stoick the Vast could wake up and realize that no matter what anyone did, Hiccup would never be a good Viking. Snotlout was pretty sure that was actually impossible to a crazy amount. Mega-level impossible.

Hiccup Haddack was a nobody. There was no way he would ever be a good chief—better just give the position to Snotlout. (Or his dad, but then Snotlout wouldn’t see him as often anymore. And his mom seemed really, really resistant to the idea…his mom was typically right about a lot of things.)

“Oh, great, we got here before the fishstick,” Tuffnut suddenly crowed from behind, a thin finger stretching out to flick Snotlout in the head. Ow.

“Hey!” Snotlout complained as he turned to grumble at him, hand on the offended spot, “What was that even for?”

Ruffnut shrugged from next to Tuff, a wrathful grin spreading across her face, “Eh, you’re boring,”

“Uh!” Snotlout argued, jutting a hand out in the twin’s faces, too close together to distinguish which he was reprimanding, “No I am not! I’m cooler than you guys, at least,”

Tuff and Ruff glanced at each other over Snotlout’s hand, wide smirks on their faces. He peered at them suspiciously. They were gonna say something. They were totally gonna say something. And it was going to be annoying.

“Sure,” Tuffnut shrugged agreeably, smirk still present, “You’re one of the most interesting people I know for sure,”

“The others being the sheep,” Ruffnut nodded along with him, arms crossed like she was a storybook character.

The sheep. The sheep? Hey.

“Ugh, I’ve had it with you guys lately!” Snotlout yelled at them, eyes widening in fury. How dare they just…they just keep insulting him all the time! What did he even do? Fishlegs was literally right there; pick on him instead!

Snotlout lowered his shoulders, plunging forward at the twins (he didn’t care which one) with his arms outreached. He was so going to pummel them. Hard. And make it hurt.

“Woah now, boy,” Metal suddenly hooked around his collar, yanking him backwards and onto the dirt. Snotlout heard his tunic rip. Seriously? Seriously??

He whipped his head around, glaring at the offender through the kicked up dust, before faltering. Gobber stared back at him, a bemused smile on his face, “Save the aggression for the ring, eh?”

Hiccup peered at him from behind Gobber, eyes wide and a hand pressed to his mouth. Ugh. Why did Hiccup get a personal escort to training today? The second Gobber turned to the arena’s gate, Astrid and Fishlegs not far behind him, Snotlout’s face contorted back into a frustrated sneer.

“What are you looking at, huh?” Snotlout sneered at the wimp, picking himself (and his newly dirtied clothes) off the ground. Did he seriously have to wash his clothes again?

The loser’s hand covering his mouth quickly turned into covering up a cough, head turning away and practically hacking into his arm. Loud, bubbly coughing. Suspiciously happy coughing. Was. Was Hiccup laughing at him?

“Don’t…ugh!” Snotlout stomped past him towards the entrance, puffing up his chest in a way he knew made him look really tough, “I hope you choke and die,”

Tuffnut whistled, clapping his hands slowly as he sauntered on with him, Snotlout was not bothering to look over at his face, “Bravo! Good show!”

“I guess you aren’t that boring,” Ruffnut conceded, wrinkling her nose at him like it hurt to say. Good. He didn’t like her either, right now. 

Snotlout didn’t like anyone right now. Why was he even here? To just get made fun of? He could just go to a family reunion for that…his cousins always had something to say. The twins always have something to say. Ugh.

Snotlout kept his gaze focused on Gobber’s back. Hiccup was behind him, somewhere. Laughing at him, somewhere. At him. How bad had Snotlout been messing up that Hiccup thought he’d earned the right to be snappy with him?

That was it. He was gonna prove himself today. It didn’t matter what it took. Snotlout was going to get through training and be better than everyone else at it. He was.

The arena’s gate rose with a screech, the lever having been flipped by Gobber when Snotlout wasn’t paying attention. Focus. He had to focus. Pay attention.

Walking into the arena felt like entering a different place entirely. Wooden walls—maybe a dozen of them—were scattered all around the place, layering the entire stone pit with a winding maze. Weird. And not intimidating. It didn’t have Snotlout thinking about what they’d be hiding from. Definitely not. 

Gobber had said nothing, as he raised the arena grate. It was…weird. Everything about today had been weird—Snotlout was just hoping that he would actually warn them or something this time.

“Grab yer weapons and shield,” Gobber instructed, hobbling around the ring of the maze with no look back. Right. They knew what to do now. Snotlout knew what to do.

His approach to the shield wall was faster than it was the day before, and Snotlout felt great about that, thank you very much. He beat the twins there! And they had the speed of a loping elk! (Not Astrid, though, but he wasn’t even trying, honestly. He would let her have all the wins she wanted for sure. Totally.)

Snotlout pointedly did not make it obvious that he was looking at the shield colors this time; looking like you were trying to look cool was really lame, which he was not. And if his shield was also still red with a skull on it, then hey, happy coincidence! 

Fishlegs was on his right, having grabbed an orange, ugly shield. Made sense. In the name of being attentive, though, Snotlout left him alone. For now. He just knew he was going to be better than everyone else today—he didn’t need to prove himself with just the shields. Bullying Fishlegs could come later. When his future didn’t depend on him doing cool stuff with dragons and all that.

“Keep your wits about ye!” Gobber suddenly called out from the other side of the arena, and Snotlout’s blood chilled. He couldn’t even help it. Was Gobber seriously gonna release a dragon on them with no help again?

The immediate, screeching roar that burst from the rising dragon’s cell was a resounding yes. 

“Oh, Thor!” Fishlegs whined, immediately flinching back behind the shield wall as the sound of thumping walls increased, “Oh no, oh no…”

“Haha, loser,” Snotlout bit out at him, willing the pounding of his heart to slow. The dragon, whichever one it was, had already started throwing itself around in the maze, no doubt getting closer every second they stood there. 

The twins cheered, voices loud and rowdy, and pushed at each other as they ran past the first wooden entrance they could see.

He turned around to find Astrid. If there was anyone he needed to really keep an eye on today, it was her. She was the most likely to actually get the dragon this time, and he wanted to get it first.

If Astrid always knew what to do, then watching her know what to do would probably give him some kind of “good influence,” that his mom had mentioned once or twice. Usually when telling him that the twins might not be the best friends to have. Snotlout wasn’t sure where she got that conception. He wasn’t friends with anybody: he was too tough for that. (The twins were entertaining, though, so they got to hang around.)

Astrid, however, was busy dashing forward into the wooden maze, her braid swinging behind her as she ducked around a corner. Snotlout cursed under his breath, clutching his shield and picking up a mace before taking off after her. Hel, she was fast; the only way he could catch up to her was by listening to the pounding of her boots as she ran across the stone, searching for her— their mark. Snotlout grit his teeth against the pounding of his breath and his heart. Dragons. Were not scary. And he was going to defeat one today. It was happening. It was.

Astrid was hunched, low, her shield raised in preparation for anything when he caught up to her; alone. Score! Just him and Astrid, alone in a maze…

Until Hiccup started to yell, high and annoying, from the other side of the arena where Gobber had pulled himself over the ledge to watch them from the sidelines, “You know! I just…happened to notice that the book didn’t have anything on Night Furies!” 

“Ugh, that guy and his night furies,” Snotlout muttered from behind Astrid, glaring in the voice’s general direction. She jolted, looking back at him with a furrowed brow. What was that look for?

All of a sudden, a blast of heat erupted in Hiccup’s direction; an unmistakable glare of a dragon’s ire. Hot, bright fire, tunnel shaped and hot. Snotlout snorted, maybe they finally had Hiccup’s hopeful demise on their hands.

“FOCUS, Hiccup!” Gobber yelled from behind the upper bars of the viewing area, looking pained, “Yer not even tryin!”

Astrid tsked, rolling her eyes and trudging forward, gripping her mace tighter in a white-knuckle grip. Thor, she looked so cool right now. If only he could just…reach out and…something. Shove her over? No, that’s not what you did with girls…Snotlout didn’t think so, at least.

“Today is all about attack!” Gobber called out, waving his hook around for emphasis, “Nadders are quick and light on their feet! Your job is to be quicker and lighter!”

Snotlout nodded, committing the words to memory. Quick. Light. Attack. He could attack. He could so attack. Glancing upwards, he couldn’t see any view of the supposed Nadder—it hadn’t drawn close enough yet. The noises of it thrashing and bumbling around in between the wooden walls were as clear as day, though, and it wasn’t terrifying. Snotlout was not scared.

“AH!” A squealing yell erupted, joined by the sound of a growling dragon from somewhere off to the side; closer than before. Snotlout tensed. Focus, even if Fishlegs was whining again, “I’m really starting to doubt your teaching methods!”

Astrid had begun creeping forward again, this time closer towards the blast. Right. Attack. Attack. He’s got this. He’s got it. His dad would be so proud, if he found out Snotlout had beaten a dragon. He’d clap his son on the back, tell him that he’d “done a good job, boyo!” and it could be great. It would be great. Snotlout was going to get this dragon.

“Look for its blind spot!” Gobber offered, voice now harder to make out between the grunts of the running Vikings and hunting Nadder, “Every dragon’s got one. Find it, hide in it, and strike!”

Hide? Snotlout wasn’t gonna hide. He was going to attack. And win. Because he was going to be the best, no opinions asked.

“Ugh!” One of the twins (Ruffnut, it sounded like) was complaining loudly from wherever they’d ended up in the wooden contraption, “Do you ever bathe ?”

“If you don’t like it, then just get your own blind spot!” Tuffnut yelled back, metal thunks reverberating throughout the arena. They were probably butting heads. Literally. 

“How about I give you one?” Ruffnut roared, the sound of metal clanking together sounding all too familiar. The twins were fighting again. And the sky was blue. Casual facts of life.

The irregular thing, of course, being that their squabbling was quickly cut through with a hot blast of fire. One that Snotlout could feel, far more than the others. In between the twin’s yells and sounds of pushing, Snotlout knew the Nadder was drawing closer. And he. Was ready? He was ready. He had to be ready.

“Blind spot, yes,” Gobber nodded to himself, chuckling as he paced around the arena, barely perceptible through the crashing of the Nadder moving closer in a way that wasn’t sending Snotlout’s heart to his boots, “Deaf spot? Not so much,”

Gobber had been circling the arena, keeping an eye on every recruit. In their efforts, he’d ended up almost next to where Astrid and Snotlout had positioned themselves inside the maze. Near Hiccup, who had been following Gobber. Who had started opening his nerd little loser mouth again. Ugh.

“Hey, so how would one sneak up on a Night Fury?” Hiccup asked, still awkwardly trying to look up at his mentor, shield haphazardly held at his side.

“No one’s ever met one and lived to tell the tale,” Gobber answered flippantly, his voice as distracted from the questioning as literally everyone else except Hiccup. For some reason.

The Nadder was drawing closer, its thudding steps causing both Snotlout and Astrid to tense. He shrugged, rolling his shoulders. Hit the dragon, get the girl. Hit the dragon, get the glory. Hit it.

The Nadder’s head peeked out from behind one of the walls, its spikes scratching against the wood like something straight from the nightmares Snotlout did not have. Right next to them. It was time. It was time, but.

“I know, I know, but hypothetically—” Hiccup continued, like they weren’t about to get assaulted by a giant flaming lizard with wings, and Astrid tensed, probably planning something cool and awesome, like an attack plan that Snotlout had to do first—

“Hiccup! Get down,” She hissed at him, flipping her hand at the wimp as he turned to her with wide, wide eyes. The boy hunched, whipping his head around to stare directly at the dragon that was headed straight for them. Astrid gripped her mace tighter, and Snotlout squared his shoulders to stand. This was it. His moment. The moment everyone realized that he was the greatest up-and-coming Viking anyone had ever seen. Astrid would adore him. The twins would adore him. Gobber would gaze upon him approvingly and immediately offer to have Snotlout replace Hiccup as his student. Hiccup, in the meantime, would fall over and die. His dad would come home, clap him on the back, and boast about him at every family event. It was going to be awesome. Snotlout was going to be awesome.

“Watch out, babe,” Snotlout winked at Astrid, hoisting himself up from their shared (score!) hiding spot and hefting his not-heavy hammer that didn’t strain his arm, “I’ll take care of this,”

With a mighty, cool swing, Snotlout flung the hammer at the Nadder’s skull, waiting for it to hit its mark. Crash into its eye, destroy its evil soul. This dragon was going to die by his hands, and he wanted it to. He wanted the feeling of doing something good . Something to be proud of. Something that was the best. Even if that meant the evil lizard had to die. All the better, honestly.

The worst part about being independent is when you mess it all up. To his absolute, soul-crushing horror, the hammer flew completely over the Nadder’s head. The only thing Snotlout had managed to do was draw the thing’s attention. Oh Thor.

“Hey!” Astrid shouted at him venomously, smacking him in the arm as he stood there, frozen with his hand in the air. An immediate fire stoked itself in Snotlout’s gut and he turned to her. Oh Thor. She saw him mess up. Astrid had watched him mess up. Oh no. Oh shit.

 “Uh—the sun was in my eyes, Astrid! What, you want me to block out the sun ?” Snotlout protested, the Nadder forgotten. He couldn’t let her think he was a loser. He couldn’t let her think he was like Hiccup, “I mean, I can do that, but I don’t have time right now!”

She said nothing, didn’t even look at him. Oh, great. Snotlout had ruined everything. Great. Great. Astrid picked herself up from the wall they had been hiding behind, dashing away in the Nadder’s direction like she was a weapon in her own right. (Thor, who cared about meat-a-phors right now??)

“They probably take the daytime off?” Hiccup yelled up at Gobber, and Snotlout wished Thor would literally smite that guy. Why did he care about Night Furies so much all of a sudden? Why did he have to care about anything right now? “Has anyone ever seen one napping?”

“Hiccup!” Gobber yelled as the loser kept rambling, a more frantic note to his face.

The Nadder had begun an active pursuit of Astrid, flying itself up on top of the walls to snap at her through each jump. She was in a dash, dodging falling walls and twisting around the bites in a mad fury. She looked divine herself, and Snotlout found himself speechless. How…could he be like that? He needed to figure that out, and fast. Cool people like Astrid needed cool people like Snotlout.

And as the walls continued to crumble down, Snotlout looked on in a deep-seated shock as Astrid came flying down from a fallen wall. Right on top of Hiccup. Face to face. So close he could probably feel her breath. She struggled next to him, wrestling with her shield or something. Snotlout felt like he was falling over.

“Ooh, love on the battlefield!” Tuffnut jeered, leaning in obnoxiously close to Snotlout’s ear, “Yikes…”

“She could do better,” Ruffnut muttered, watching the whole thing with a very respectable distaste. He fully agreed. The sight of Hiccup so close to Astrid also made him want to puke. Not that he’d do that—he’d already messed up once today.

Hiccup was stuttering, his voice a mutter from where he was pinned under Astrid, supposed-to-be-Snotlout’s Astrid, and she finally yanked the axe that had fallen through her shield out of it. The Nadder closed in behind them, and in a massive feat of the coolest shit Snotlout had ever seen in his life, she slammed the shield-covered axe onto the thing’s face. It shrieked, stumbling away and falling into another wall.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” Astrid exploded at Hiccup, her voice the loudest and most outraged Snotlout had ever heard from her. The tone carried all throughout the arena—Snotlout could feel it in his bones, “Our parents' war is about to become ours! Figure out which side you’re on,”

She gave him a final look of disgust before trudging off, her breath hot and heavy. Hiccup continued to sit on the floor, eyes wide and almost unseeing. Absolute wimp. Loser. How was he not dead yet?

Fishlegs scooted away from the entrance where he had been trying to flee to let her pass, her gait not even pausing. Like she knew everyone would clear the way. Snotlout considered following her; make that move. But.

Figure out which side you’re on.

Snotlout…he was a Viking. He knew that. His father knew that. Everyone knew that. But. Who’s side was he on, really? It certainly wasn’t Hiccup’s. His family? The whole entirety of Berk, annoyances included? It didn’t feel right. The thought of it didn’t feel right. He’d…never had to think about it before.

But, then again, he thought as he watched Astrid’s back disappear through the dark hole of the arena, her fierce steps igniting a similar fire in him. He could always be on his own side. Officially, that is. If…If he was the best Viking on Berk, then Berk would be safer than it’s ever been. Because Snotlout…he was going to be the best. No jokes. No distractions. Not even the snickering mutters from the twins, echoing beside him as they jeered and laughed and did whatever they did, could stop him. 

Snotlout was going to be the best. The chief, someday. No matter what it took. Because he was going to be on his own side. The Snotlout side.

And to be chief? Hiccup had to go.

Chapter Text

Without dragons around, the night was dark and chilly. (Especially on the giant and tall and giant lookout tower Gobber had picked to build the cooking fire on.) Not that Snotlout was cold. He was too strong for the weather to affect him. Looking away from the cookfire, stars flickered away above them in the sky. Snotlout guessed that girls kinda liked thoughts like that—not that the girl he wanted would care, probably. Astrid seemed too cool for gushy stuff like stars and flowers and whatever. When they got together, he’d probably have to give her a whole slaughtered and sliced yak for her birthday or something. (That’s what dad did for his mom, anyway…)

The bonfire they’d started an hour or so ago was crackling away, the warmth bringing redness to Snotlout’s cheeks. He wasn’t even sure why they were out here. To watch for an attack? Wasn’t there someone else who could do that? Snotlout just wanted to eat and go home…At least his fish—impaled on the stick he’d had thrown at him by a bored Tuffnut—was cooking in the flames; his eyes tracking it ravenously. He was so hungry—after the whole “side” thing happened and training was officially over for the day, all thoughts of food had pretty much been forgotten until now. Gobber had rounded them all up and took basically everyone fishing. Well, not Astrid, but no one had wanted to try and get her to sit still near Hiccup for multiple hours after her totally awesome outburst. Snotlout barely stood being near the guy himself. But fishing ? Snotlout was too cool for fishing. He could stand that even less, probably.

But he did it anyway, because it was Gobber, and being cool with him was one of the best ways he could think of to be the Best Viking Ever. The guy had told them that their food supply was “going a wee bit rough,” and that they needed to “be a bit more helpful, yeah?” Which Snotlout didn’t know what to make of. Their food supply was running low? How ? It had only been a day since everyone had left, so anyone would think it would last longer…

But whatever. Snotlout didn’t have to care about that; food supply and world peace and all that were for the council members, not the chief. The next chief (Snotlout, eventually) should be worried about his impression on the people —he needed to be the best of the best to be a good leader, so he needed to be strong . Cold. Powerful. Ya know, all the things someone needed to be a good leader. Power sounded good, at least. Snotlout liked the sound of power.

Go away, and never come back, he’d tell Hiccup, and laugh as his boat went sailing off into the seas. To disappear. 

Hiccup. Disappearing. How Snotlout was gonna make that happen, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like Hiccup didn’t have plenty of weird little accidents all the time anyway. Snotlout had kicked him down a hill once, when they were children, and all the adults had thought that Hiccup had just fell because he sucked like that. It was pretty funny, honestly…maybe he could try the hill tactic again? Just. Off a cliff, instead. Down a mountain? Ugh, but then he’d have to go climb a mountain with Hiccup . No, thank you. Different accidental accident, please.

“Well aren’t ye a boring lot,” Gobber broke the crackling silence, leaning forward as the fire glinted in his eyes, “Got nothing to say, eh? Shame—ya were all wide-eyed in the show earlier,”

He laughed, a crackly thing, tilting his head as he watched his fish (it was giant, easily the best catch out of the whole group and it didn’t make Snotlout insanely jealous-) burn on the fire. They had all long since scraped the scales off on their respective fish, but Gobber had left his on. Go figure, “Eh, can’ blame ya. Quite the show it was,”

Gobber’s eyes landed on Astrid, who stiffened at the attention. There she was, awesome Astrid, diligent and strong and going to be perfect for him, one day. She’d see it eventually. Hopefully. Probably…maybe. 

Giving her a nod, Gobber continued with a hearty tone in his voice, “And mighty fine words, lass. You’ve got real potential in ya.”

Regardless of the warm words, the group suddenly found that they were all being scrutinized, blue eyes trailing over them like Gobber was sizing them up in his forge, “She’s not wrong, again . Whatever mess we got into with dragons is gonna be yer mess, too. An’ for most of ye, it’s already begun,”

Fishlegs nodded solemnly, his fish steadily turning into an even brown. (It didn’t look better than Snotlout’s. He just liked his a little burnt. And charred. Like a dragon. Fierce. And violent. And murderous…um. Um…)

“I can’t blame ya if yer scared,” Gobber shrugged as everyone else continued to say nothing, the air tenser than it had been before. What was it with Gobber and bringing up how they could all probably die soon? “I know I had a right ugly time with the beasts,”

Tuffnut snorted, waving his actively on fire cod at the man, “Oh, what, did the same dragon take off the arm and the leg?”

All the man did was snort at him, shaking his head, “Nah--might’ve been nicer of em’ if they did, though,”

“But both were taken by a dragon, though?” Fishlegs asked, a weird sort of shine in his eyes. Weirdo, “I’ve heard people talk about you and all that, but…”

“Aye,” Gobber nodded, pausing to move his fish off the fire and giving it a whiff, “It was in my earlier days; before any of ya were even born,”

So Gobber had been like this…since even before Snotlout? Dragons had been a thorn in their side for that long? It felt weird—he knew that already. Or at least he thought he did. Everyone knew that. Knew that dragons had been Berk’s number one enemy for centuries, dating back further than anyone who could ever possibly tell the tale otherwise. (Except maybe Elder Gothi. That lady was so old he had no trouble believing she was there when the dragons first attacked.)

But…to see it, to hear it, like this? It was all the proof Snotlout needed. All the courage he’d been asking for. (Not that he was scared, it was just…hard. Vikings could do hard things! And he was a Viking!) That he needed to be chief. That he needed to get stronger. Better. That he needed to take Hiccup’s place.

With that guy in charge, there was no way the dragon raids would ever be stopped. If Snotlout was being nice, then maybe he could say that Hiccup, maybe, could be at best a kinda terrible chief. But never a warrior. One look at the wimp was all it took to know that Hiccup didn’t have a single violent bone in his entire body. (He had plenty of tiny fish bones, though.) All the more reason why he couldn’t be trusted as a protector. A glorious warrior. A Viking.

Snotlout peered at Hiccup across the fire, scowling at him. Stupid face. Stupid freckles. Stupid, inside-of-a-ladle looking hair. Stupid loser. He could not believe the guy was supposed to be the best of Berk. In what world? Helheim? No, even in Hel there would be a rat worse at being a Viking than him…

“…with that one twist, the bastard took off my arm. An’ I saw the look on his face; I was delicious,” Gobber’s voice cut through the fire of Snotlout’s thoughts. Right. Gobber. Dragons…dragons had taken Gobber’s limbs, “N’ he must’av told his friends, too, because it wasn’t even a month later another one took my leg,”

Just like that? No fight, no glory in anything? The dragons just… took it? Took his arm, his leg? What was the point of the battle if Gobber didn’t even get anything out of it? Snotlout peered at him, searching his hook, his peg. They didn’t seem cool. Or wealthy. Rich. It was stuff your run-of-the-mill Viking would have. But this…this was Gobber. Gobber was different; he was close with the chief, right? Had worked hard to be his friend, fight alongside him. And all he got for it was…nothing? That…that didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t right. That wasn’t how life worked —you fought for the glory that got you the reward.

All of that, and the man still got stuck with Hiccup all by himself in the forge? What was the point?

Because he was an absolute nerd with no idea of how to even appear cool, Fishlegs leaned forward with a pathetic gleam in his eye, “Isn’t it weird to think that your hand was inside a dragon? Like, if your mind was still in control of it, do you think you could’ve killed it from the inside by…um, killing its heart or something?”

Gobber’s hand. The hand that had probably done some really cool stuff. And got taken away. How was that allowed? Why did that happen? (…what if it happened to him? Before he became chief? And then Hiccup really would become the worst chief ever.) Why couldn’t Hiccup have  been eaten by a dragon already? Not Gobber’s hands , which had been helpful and not tiny and useless and weak.

“I swear, I’m so angry right now!” Snotlout burst out, yanking his fish from the fire and scowling at its burnt scales. That was fine. He liked eating ash. It was his favorite food. Ash and the blood of his enemies, “I’ll avenge your beautiful hand and your beautiful foot! I’ll chop off the legs of every dragon I meet! With my face!”

“Mhh. No—it’s the wings and tails you really want,” Gobber nodded, sounding like the coolest thing Snotlout had ever heard, “If it can’t fly, it can’t get away. A downed dragon is a dead dragon,”

One day, he was going to be like that. Say everything with handless (with hopefully still a hand) certainty. What was the word? Experimence? Experiench? Right, yeah. Everything he’d say would be correct and right and awesome, because that’s what he would be. Was already. With experimench.

“Alright, I’m off to bed,” Taking a final bite of his fish and throwing the stick off the watchtower they’d set up on, Gobber slapped his knee and stood, glancing at everyone in the circle,  “N’ you should be, too. Tomorrow, we get to the big boys. Slowly but surely, we’ll work our way up to the Monstrous Nightmare…But who’ll earn the honor of killing it? Heheh,”

Waving a hook in the gleaming firelight as goodbye, Gobber stood, signaling a dismissal.

Snotlout almost leapt off the bench he was on, before settling back down. Don’t look too eager, but…A Monstrous Nightmare? The dragon challenge was always going to be a dragon, but for it to be that Helheim spawn? Only the coolest people ever went after them. 

“Oh, it’s so gonna be me,” Tuffnut grinned, swinging up a skinny arm and brandishing the weirdly bruised side of it to the group as he lied, “See?”

Snotlout almost found himself dreaming of it all. (Not that he would. Because dreaming was for kids and weirdo little losers. Which he wasn’t, obviously.) The moment the smoke cleared, his axe in the thing’s neck. His boot on its horns, his helmet and his rock-hard abs (that everyone could see after a glancing swipe that he dodged like a badass) gleaming in a way that made Astrid swoon into his arms. She’d offer herself to him immediately, of course, and he’d say yes, if he ”thought about it“. She’d think he’d marry one of the other dozen women who wanted him, so she’d offer to give him a yak every birthday instead. His dad would beam at him from the crowd, Chief Stoick would strut down from his seat and take his nephew’s shoulder in a giant hand. Loudly and officially announcing that Snotlout would be the next heir to the chiefdom, after Hiccup’s unfortunate (and perfectly timed) demise. Who needed that guy, anyway…

A jolt of movement caught Snotlout’s eye through the murmur of voices and his own thoughts (were they talking about tattoos?) , and he glanced at the shape before scowling. Ughhh. Hiccup.

Across the fire, the light crept across the fishbone’s face, highlighting Hiccup’s (far too similar to his own, thanks) freckles as he watched the guy’s face contort into some weird, awkward mess of horror and enlightenment. What, was he just now figuring out they were fighting dragons?

The wimp suddenly jolted up off his bench, eyes wide and looking wildly around as if he was waiting for Snotlout to smack him. Or push him off the tower…or punch him in the face. Snotlout shot him a wide, toothy grin. Man, just thinking about punching that mug made him feel better already.

“Okay, I’ve been with you since birth, and that’s never been there before,” Ruffnut sounded off somewhere to the side. It didn’t matter--the twins only talked about things that weren’t important. Maybe funny, but Snotlout couldn’t waste time on them if he was going to be the best. He glared at Hiccup harder. One day, he was going to take that loser’s place.

Not even seeing Snotlout’s terrifying leer, Hiccup immediately set his spit stick down and turned away from the fire, his shoulders hunching in on himself as he bolted off the platform. Carried his stick legs down the first set of stairs to the fire pit. He continued the near run down to the other side, almost throwing himself around the corner. 

“Uh, yes it was,” Tuffnut answered offendedly, probably trying to spew his annoying something or others again as everyone else watched him. No one was paying attention to Hiccup, as was the custom, but.

Snotlout, having leaned back to watch the guy scramble off, scowled at the empty space of the stairs…Hiccup usually wasn’t hyper for anything. (Except burning down houses by accident, apparently. And those weird loser contraption things he brought around sometimes.) Was he just being a weirdo? That wouldn’t be anything new, except Hiccup didn’t just. Leave like that. Like he had better places to be. Like anything could be more interesting than Snotlout. More interesting than ending dragons.

What was that loser hiding?

———————————————------------------------

“ Ugh , I’m pretty sure whatever stink you’ve got is, like, trying to get through the air to me,” Tuffnut wrinkled his nose, peering around the gas-filled arena like the smell was Snotlout’s fault.

Morning had come, and with it another day of dragon training. Zipplebacks were terrible and evil and Snotlout hated it. It? Them? Oh, whatever. Who cared? One heart, two heads? Both evil.

“Hey!” Snotlout glared at him, kicking him in the toe. If he kicked him too hard, he’d just fall over like an unsteady pole, and Snotlout needed the bucket he had if he wanted to kill the Monstrous Nightmare. Though he could maybe just take the bucket and then kick him over…

He had been paired with Tuffnut to fight the Zippleback. Who had been poking him and dripping water onto his boots and telling him that his face looked gross again today. Which was annoying, especially when the wet squelch of his boots meant that he’d have to leave them out to dry. Which meant laundry. Kinda. But laundry in any way was still kinda too close to doing chores for his taste.

So, being paired with Tuffnut? Not great. (But at least he wasn’t Fishlegs. Or Hiccup .)

The only thing worse than having to be paired up for today (why did he have to share the feeling of winning?), however, was that the entire arena was filled with a foul green gas. He just knew the smell was going to seep into his shirt and Ruffnut was going to tell him he had never showered once in his life later. (He did too! Yesterday…’s yesterday. Rain counted as a shower, right?)

“Today is about teamwork,” Gobber’s voice echoed along the stone, a steady rumble against the weird hissing that had filled pretty much everywhere. Thor, Snotlout had never wanted to hear that hiss again…ugly, disgusting thing that it was. Maybe he could just be happy with slugging it in the face as revenge for making him look stupid. (Oh, and the house that it blew up, maybe.)

“Now, a wet dragon can’t really light its fire when is' wet,” Gobber continued, as Snotlout turned around bravely. (He wasn’t scared—Tuffnut was just really likely to…get him, or something. Right.) “The Hideous Zippleback is extra tricky, though! One head breathes gas, and the other ignites it. Your job is to know which is which,”

Snotlout sneered at the gas. Just let that dragon try to come and get him. He’d bite it first .

Fishlegs, because he sucked and was the most annoying ever, started rambling from wherever he decided to go hide off with the fishbone (loser for loser, hah), “…sharp, serrated teeth that inject venom for predigestion…ambush attack, crushing its victims—“

“Will you please stop that?” Hiccup snapped at him through the gas, and Snotlout had to stop himself from laughing. That was… wasn’t funny. A loser telling another loser to stop acting like one is just that irony thing. Hiccup wasn’t funny. Ew.

Turning away from the noise, Snotlout bumped into Tuffnut, sneering at him, focus , “If that dragon shows either of its heads, I’m gonna—“

Through the smoke, a horned shape weaved in the green, slithering towards him. The hisses echoing around them seemed to grow, and Snotlout felt his heart race. Race because he wasn’t scared and he was going to get this dragon. Beat it up, punch its face, throw the water, “There!”

Their water soared through the air, cutting through the mist as Tuffnut tossed his as well, arcing up and over and—.

Crashed onto Astrid and Ruffnut and Astrid. Astrid, who was glaring at him, water-soaked hair clinging to her face. Oh Thor.

“Hey, that was us, idiots!” Ruffnut was staring axes at them, but she did that all the time anyway, honestly, but Astrid? When she looked at him, it was typically just that awestruck silence…

Tuffnut just snorted, elbowing Snotlout in the side, “Heh, your butts are just getting bigger—we thought you were a dragon,”  

Snotlout gaped at him. You. You couldn’t just say that to girls, right? If anyone said that to his Mom? Well. He turned and started waving a hand at Astrid, grinning handsomely, “Not that there’s anything wrong with having a…dragonly figure—“

Astrid, moved by his words, tramped over him, faster than a dragon, and brought her hand up, up to his face. Oh. Was she…finally making her move? Was it finally when she gave herself to—

“Ow!” Snotlout yelped, her knuckles denting into his face and sending him reeling backwards. Closer to the mist. By the dragon. Ow, his face hurt…

Ruffnut threw her full bucket at Tuff, the water spraying Snotlout, (rude), which sent the guy flying onto his skinny ass. Snotlout looked up, ready to laugh at him, before his body was suddenly yanked into the fog like a dead fish. Tuffnut was. What.

“ Wait… ” Astrid spoke, the word coming out hurried and warningly. a warning for him, for the dragon? Snotlout was probably pretty sure, but he appreciated that she wanted him safe. Even if his cheek still hurt. Why did she do that? It’s not like he was the one who said the butt thing. Tuffnut was just kinda like that. Don’t punch the messenger, or something.

Out of the green, a thin, bright shape lashed out at them, quick and horrifying, and Snotlout was on his back and the mist was in his face and everything was not okay. What kind of sick joke was this? Lurching upward, he bared his teeth in the green, pushing himself away from the fog. There was still the Zippleback around here, somewhere. And his water. His water was gone. Damn it, Snotlout.

“Oh, I am hurt ! I am VERY MUCH HURT,” Someone’s voice cried out in the wall of green, and Snotlout jumped to his feet, wildly turning to find Tuffnut running desperately out of whichever evil clutches he’d been in. A thick, red stripe was slashed down his face, and Snotlout winced at him. (Wow, that looked ugly . Why were scars cooler than the bloody part?)

A spluttering hiss echoed through the arena, and Snotlout took a. Cautionary step back, as Tuffnut continued fleeing off somewhere behind him. What…where was this thing? How were you supposed to fight something you couldn’t see?

The yelping, pitiful shriek that only Fishlegs was capable of erupted from somewhere off to his left, and Snotlout whirled around. Did the guy die? While that would be kind of funny, it meant that Snotlout could be next. But no . He was Snotlout. Nothing could stop him. Not even invisible, evil, terrible dragons who wanted to suck out his blood or something.

“Hiccup!” Gobber’s voice cut through the fog like a blade, the tone frantic and almost scared. What could scare Gobber? “NOW!”

Oh, of course it was Hiccup. Was that guy next? Would the Zippleback do Snotlout’s job for him? Would the thing lumber off into its cage after a bite-sized snack, while all that remained of the annoyance was his ugly boots? Were the gods answering some kind of prayer Snotlout forgot he made?

All of a sudden, the mist cleared, a frantic wind slashing though the air. Wild hissing reverberated from the corner, where the Zippleback was fiercely backing up. Flapping its wings as if it could fly away. Retreating. Fleeing. From Hiccup Haddock the whatever number. The fishbone. The loser. What was happening.

“Back!” Hiccup yelled at the beast, his voice louder and stronger than Snotlout, Hel, probably anyone had ever heard. It wasn’t like Astrid, her anger low and vicious. He sounded bright, fierce. Like. Like he was actually capable of something, for once in his life. What. What. What.

The Zippleback, like a demon possessed, snarled at Hiccup with all teeth bared, gas pouring out of one mouth, before. Before throwing itself back into its cage. As if Hiccup commanded, it was obliged to listen. Like it was…scared. Of Hiccup.

“And…and think about what you’ve done!” Hiccup cried out at the beast, like Snotlout got scolded as a child. Like the dragon had just simply done a little mischief, like pushing Hiccup down the stairs. Like the bloody scratch on Tuffnut hadn’t happened. After he spoke, the guy threw himself into the lever to get it closed, wiping off his hands on his vest as it closed. As if it was nothing. As if defeating a dragon and talking to it like the thing was a baby was just slime on his fingers. He glanced upward, eyes locking onto Snotlout’s, and froze. Hiccup’s gaze darted away immediately, like he couldn’t bear to look at him. Like he was better. Than Snotlout. What. What.

“Okay, so. Are we…done?” Hiccup cleared his throat, all of a sudden that weak loser who couldn’t lift a mace all over again as he pointed towards the entrance with a weak shuffle, “‘Cuz I’ve got… stuff to do, so, uh,”

Lifting a hand in a weird thing of a salute, he nodded once before practically running towards the exit, his gangly legs pushing himself forward in a scramble. Like he had to run away from a dragon he’d just defeated. What in Thor’s name was going on here? Hiccup wasn’t strong. He wasn’t smart, or cool. Or funny. Or cool. And how did he do that? Because there was no way that had all been Hiccup’s doing.

Had…had Gobber been secretly training him off to the side? Hiccup was his apprentice, but…Snotlout shot a glance at him before pausing at the look on his face. Gobber was practically a wooden carving, the expression of bone-deep shock so obvious it made Snotlout’s face hurt. Oh yeah. Gobber had no idea. But then. Then how? Had Hiccup…no. There just wasn’t any other way. Because if Gobber hadn’t trained him any extra, then. Was…Hiccup. Actually good at fighting dragons? On his own? After all the years of blowing up workshops, losing Snotlout’s toys when they were kids, ( yes, he remembered, thank you), and setting houses on fire by the way , did. Had Hiccup finally become a Viking? Had he finally become someone that Snotlout couldn’t just wait for him to die? 

Uh. Because. That hadn’t been his plan at all. To just…wait. No. He would get Hiccup himself. With. With his own two hands. Yeah. He could. Do that. And he would do it tonight. No more super secret planning. No more waiting. No more chances for Hiccup to fight dragons. Hiccup didn’t get to do cool things. That was Snotlout’s job; this was Snotlout’s world he was living in. And he didn’t need Hiccup living in it.

Snotlout eyed the axe that had been hanging, tauntingly, on the wall rack by the exit. Gleaming, strong. He may not be Astrid, with her personal, personally sharpened axe, and her pretty hai--he wasn’t Astrid. But he was strong. He knew he was. He knew.

And an axe was great for removing fishbones.

Chapter Text

Snotlout, for the record, did not want to wake up early. Obviously. But, when you were replacing the next head of a generation to be the most awesome ever, he guessed that sacrifices had to be made. Like not sleeping in until like 10 minutes until training started. He could give himself a whole, like, hour. Crazy. Crazy dedicated. He should get an award, honestly. A medal? Cool shield? Hm.

Because Hiccup was up to something. Right? And if Snotlout wanted to be chief, the only thing he could do to get it would be to get rid of him. Obviously. No big deal, but the annoying part was that he didn’t know how. Or where. Or when. Just, like. Swing at him? Would that be too obvious? Would anyone care? Probably not, it was Hiccup, after all--even if he was the chief’s son.

It didn’t matter. Snotlout would figure it out. He was awesome like that--and he would start with sharpening his axe, like Astrid did whenever she didn’t talk. (Which was always. Girls were really confusing.) Because, after all, if he just tried what Astrid did when she was being cool, then he’d also look cool doing it. Which was a very important step of the process. 

…Where did someone go to sharpen an axe? Like, the forge? No…Astrid didn’t need the forge. Didn’t she use a rock? Maybe? Did he have any rocks in his house? Probably not…

Snotlout grunted, rolling over in his bed. But he didn’t want to get up. He especially didn’t want to leave his house so early in the morning just for Hiccup. Ugh. What was the point of getting rid of the guy if he still had to do stuff? Being chief was about being cool and not doing stuff! Snotlout was great at both of those! Why ruin his streak of being so good at being stuffless when he could just…go back to sleep? That would be nice…yeah. He could always end Hiccup later. After he slept in for like…only a few more hours. It’s not like the guy was going anywhere.

But…ugh. A rock. For his axe. That he was going to sharpen and. And. Use to kill Hiccup? Yeah. Or just, like, dramatically slash him off a cliff. Or. Uh.

Anyway. Where did someone even just, like, find rocks? The woods? Probably. Or the bluffs. But only people with yak barf for brains and the twins went messing around on those. (Same thing, honestly.) Okay. The woods. He could do the woods. Nothing but trees and yaks out there.

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Trees were tall. Had they always been this tall? Snotlout couldn’t remember--the last time he’d gone around the forest like now was when his dad had been mad at him for the house keys going missing. (Again, the fact that they had fallen into the ocean was not his fault. Going to the bluffs had been the twins’ idea! Their fault!) That was only a few years ago, but still. Weird. Big. It made his gut churn, a weird feeling of being watched settling on his shoulders. Like the trees could see him. Were laughing at him for how short he was not, actually. How tall they were, compared to him. It was annoying. His mom had said that Snotlout was perfectly average height, which was cool. It was cool, okay? Who wanted to be a tall, lanky freak like Tuffnut, anyway? Not Snotlout.

His axe was heavy, too. Was it always this heavy? Did he pick up the wrong axe?...Had he been getting weaker? That wouldn’t be good, especially if Astrid ever found out that his training room was lacking a lot of training stuff. Not that he, like, needed them, because he was naturally buff and cool and all that. But still. Even the strongest Vikings needed to sharpen their blades, or something. Oh, which was what he was doing! Good job, him. Snotlout for the win, as always.

The grass here was also just so tall. How did anyone find anything here? Let alone some stupid rock. Maybe he could just scrape his axe on a tree like an itchy yak and call it a day. Hiccup probably wasn’t that strong. He was too much of a wimp to need a really sharp axe. And maybe he could just use it to, like. Push him off the bluffs, or something. That would fit. Lose the keys, act of Thor. Lose the cousin, act of Snotlout. Was he a god?

Through the annoying whishing sounds of the trees and the birds, a weird snapping sound broke Snotlout out of his really cool and realistic ideas. It. Uh. That sounded like something. A hare? Bigger than that. An itchy yak?...A dragon?

The crashing continued, a clumsy cracking of twigs and jostling of trees. A possible dragon that might possibly be getting closer. Um. Uh. Um. Right in front of him. 

Looking wildly around, Snotlout grabbed ahold of the nearest tree, (itchy on his hands) and threw himself behind it, pressing himself to the bark. Trees were tall enough that dragons wouldn’t see him through them, right? Yeah. Yeah, probably. Hopefully. Please. 

Rustling shrubs only closed in, and Snotlout couldn’t breathe. What was happening? How was this happening? One second, he’s planning the end of a bloodline, the next he’s the one that could be ended. AGH! No. He was training for this. He was amazing. He was Snotlout. And he would kill this dragon. With his axe. That he hadn’t sharpened yet. Hel yeah.

Hefting his way-too-heavy axe in his hands, Snotlout breathed in. Squared his chest. Let the Jorgenson family manliness settle over him, the dragon-slaying ancestors in Valhalla. He was ready. He was ready. Axe above his head, Snotlout un-hid himself from the tree. Unhid sounded cool. Yeah. Yeah! He had this. This dragon was dead. It was so dead. It was--

Hiccup freaking Haddock . What ever number. With a weird amount of leather things in his hands. 

And not a dragon. And looking at Snotlout like he just tried running at him with an axe. Which. He might have done. Just as…practice. And stuff. Cool practice, by the way! 

Snotlout scowled at the fishbone, axe dragging his arms back down to the ground. To the too tall grass. And the too tall trees. And the too annoying Hiccup who was the entire reason he had to be out here. He hefted axe up closer to the loser. He could do it. He could do it right now.

“Uh,” Hiccup stood there awkwardly, (maybe a little scared, even. Ha.), staring down at the axe as it was lined up with his eyes. Like a loser who apparently liked tricking people in his spare time, “Why…Uh. Why?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Snotlout sneered at him, the axe glinting in the light that shoved its way through the tree leaves. One swing, and it was over with. Leave him out here in the woods, body hidden in the monstrously tall grass. Behind a rock. Blame it all on a dragon. Oh no, sorry, Hiccup wasn’t a dragon-training prodigy after all, just a loser like everyone always thought…

“Snotlout, why are you pointing an axe at my face?” Hiccup’s eyes had widened, even though that dry, arrogant voice stayed the same. If not more scared, which was good. Hiccup should be scared of Snotlout. Should fear for his place in Berk. What had he ever done to deserve where he was? What had he been doing even now, with all his weird contraptions? Not anything Viking-like, for sure. They were probably how he’d cheated at dragon training.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Snotlout let a sneer come over his face, stepping closer towards Hiccup until the guy was forced into a tree, axe still at his throat, “Oh, what, like you weren’t cheating at dragon training yesterday? Like you’re not planning on cheating again?”

“Oh, uh,” Hiccup’s face contorted into a grimace, scrambling at the bark in the tree with the leather things still in his hands, “I just…got lucky?”

“Yeah, right,” Snotlout snorted at him, before pausing and peering at him suspiciously. That… would make sense, though. Because no way could Hiccup suddenly get good at something other than being a loser wimp weirdo. Especially not dragons, or fighting. Or anything Snotlout was good at. So yeah. A freak spout of luck. Maybe even the dragon thought Hiccup was ugly, “...Right,”

He let the axe waver, let its blade hit the ground. Right. Hiccup was a loser who couldn’t do anything right. A…stroke of luck, was all. Yeah, “Whatever,”

“...Uhh,” Hiccup squinted at Snotlout, watching the axe as it moved away, the leather still clutched tightly to his chest. His eyes flicked over Snotlout, just. Looking at him. Weirdo, “Oh. Yeah, yup! Random--crazy luck! Won’t, uh,”

“Probably won’t…” Hiccup pushed himself off the tree, eyes darting to the deeper corners of the forest. He raised a hand placatingly, like Snotlout was some feral dragon, “Won’t happen again,”

“It better not, loser,” Snotlout glared at him as he lurched forward, grinning when Hiccup took a step back, “The only person who’s gonna even touch that Nightmare is me. Don’t forget it,”

“Uh, right, yeah,” Stumbling, Hiccup retreated like the scared little wimp he was, dropping one of the leather things. As the guy swore and picked it up, Snotlout tried to sneak a peek. Metal rods, brown leather. A flash of a shape that seemed familiar, before it was hidden in Hiccup’s twiggy arms once again. Weird, but then again, Hiccup wasn’t known around the entirety of Berk for being normal.

“Good,” Snotlout sneered at his back, watching Hiccup slump off in a clumsy shuffle off beyond the edge of the woods, contraptions in hand. What were those? Snotlout knew that Hiccup was Gobber’s apprentice and everything--he made weird stuff all the time! But to take them out to the woods and hide them like that? It was extra weird. Like, weird weird.

Because even when they were kids, Hiccup was the kind of person who wanted to wax on about the things he did well. Whenever he made something, he just had to show someone, eyes gleaming excitedly and babbling away with an excited tone. And Hiccup had usually come to him, back then. Before everyone realized he was a useless freak. But still. Even now, when he made stuff, Hiccup probably tried to show someone. Snotlout figured that it was just Gobber, now, but that other night, with all that “Night Fury” stuff…

The only thing that still rubbed Snotlout the wrong way about that, still, was that Hiccup had never really been a liar. A loser, a wimp, a freak? Sure. A nerd? Absolutely. But half of the time he was only called a loser because he didn’t even try to be cool. Even Snotlout lied sometimes, if anyone could believe that, to make himself that much more awesome. But Hiccup? He’d tell you that he fell up the stairs if anyone cared to ask. 

Lately, though. He had to’ve been lying. No one just caught a Night Fury. Not Hiccup. Not his dad. Not Snotlout’s dad. It was unheard of, un seen …of. So maybe Hiccup had picked up the habit of lying. Of hiding. Maybe he really was just different, now. Maybe he’d changed again. 

And seriously, what was he hiding? And why in the forest? That was like, the least secretive place that anyone could do anything! Someone could just, like, walk around and find it somewhere! Easily, probably…oh. Oh.

Someone could just walk around and find it. Snotlout could just walk around and find it. 

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“So, late, are ye?” Gobber called out when Snotlout finally entered the arena. Like the guy was mocking him. Snotlout sneered, turning away to glare at the ground. He was too annoyed for this today. Thor, why did so many people just judge him all the time? He wasn’t even that late! Maybe like, half an hour at most. 

Just…just. Why were forests so big? Snotlout had walked around for what felt like forever and he didn’t find anything except some weird broken tree and mud. It was almost sad that one of the more exciting things he found was mud. Mud! The most boring thing, like, ever. Thor, where did Hiccup hide things at? He wasn’t even the smart one! They had Fishlegs to do weirdo smart things, like dragon numbers or whatever!

And why did Hiccup have to be annoying and hide stuff, anyway? Hiding things meant that finding them was really difficult. And annoying, did he mention that yet? Because it was annoying. Really annoying. Snotlout was ready to fight something. Just fight, get it over with, and then fight something else, too! Something like Hiccup. Like pummeling him.

“All ‘righ, then, ya bug,” Gobber nodded, looking off to the dragon cell doors like he had multiple times before. Snotlout scoffed, hoisting his ( unsharpened axe, UGH) in the air. He was so ready to get this dragon. To let his axe actually swing at something, “Today, we’re going to try and tackle the Gronkle again! Remember; a shield, most of the time, is going to be just as helpful as an axe,”

Gobber eyed Snotlout specifically, blues narrowing into a pointed stare, “So it’s probably wise to have one,”

Snotlout rolled his eyes, glaring at the wall. Whatever. He didn’t need a shield. That Gronkle was going to leave its cage and Snotlout was going to send it out of life. Down to Helheim. Snotlout was done. Done with today, done with everyone. Hiccup was annoying, Gobber was annoying, Hiccup was annoying .

Let that Gronkle come. He was done.

As always, the cage opened with a creak that was immediately drowned out by the sound of a pissed off dragon. (Relatable. Not that he’d ever relate to a dragon, but still.) The thing burst from its confinement, mouth already gaping and hungry. Ready for its next victim. Ready to be killed by none other than Snotlout.

Buzzing wings flapped above its fat body, pushing it forward; a lurching, unsteady hover. Snotlout roared at the thing, rushing forward with the axe raised in his hands. He was going to kill the dragon. He was going to kill this dragon.

Not even looking at Snotlout, the Gronkle turned towards Hiccup and narrowed in on him, wings beating furiously as it charged forward. Gobber called out, “Hiccup! Be ready!”

The second the words had left his mouth, the dragon was on Hiccup. Giant, bulbous face closer than anything to Hiccup’s head. Snotlout’s heart soared. Was Hiccup finally going to die? Was this happening? Were all of his dreams coming true?

With all the force of a house crumbling under its own weight, the Gronkle slammed to the ground. The beast’s tongue rolled out of its gaping mouth, leg kicking weirdly like an overexcited dog, Hiccup rubbing his hand on the thing’s chin. Like just his touch was single-handedly powerful enough to send it down. Like Hiccup was powerful. Hiccup.  

Just luck? Hiccup was just lucky? There was actually no way. No way he could get this lucky twice. Not like this. No. No. Snotlout would not be outshone, outdone by some weird, skinny little wimpy freakazoid of a cousin. Not again. He said it wouldn’t happen again.

“Hiccup…” Gobber’s voice was almost terrifyingly quiet--he hadn’t even gotten the chance to hop out of the ring to watch them all like he’d been doing lately, “...Ye’ve won the match today? Again…”

Yeah, again. Again! That was the Odin-damned problem! Again!

Oh, he was so going to pummel the guy. Beat him to the ground. Into pulp. Into dust. He was going to end him. Evistertate. Evincipate?

Snotlout glared across the arena, wishing, for a moment, that he was the one who could spit giant balls of hot lava to burn Hiccup down to the ground. Anything to make him miserable. Anything to make him pay.

“Well, then!” Gobber was practically laughing in glee, his hook glimmering in the lights as he gave it a jolly wave in the air, “ Tha’ sorts tha’ then! I’ll see you lot tomorrow,”

Like Snotlout’s life couldn’t get any worse, Hiccup was waved over to Gobber at the same time the twins flocked over to him, sneering the way they did.

“Oooh, you were just so scary today,” Ruffnut cooed fakely at him, a wide, ugly grin across her long face. Like she did anything. Like she had any room to talk.

“Right? I was basically swooning. Who knew the fishbone had all that in him, to be scarier than Big Head Lout over here? ” Tuffnut dramatically draped himself across Snotlout’s shoulder, annoying smirk all up his face. Mocking him. Judging him. Holy Thor Snotlout needed to punch something.

“Go away, damn!” Snotlout yelled at him, violently pushing the guy’s arm off of him, away from him. To get them away. To stop looking at him like that! Like Snotlout was just another loser. Just another guy that Hiccup, of all people, could beat.

“Fine, damn,” Tuffnut shrugged, giving him a weird look. Like Snotlout was overreacting. Like he was the weirdo here. No. No! What was it with people and thinking that Snotlout was doing something wrong lately? He was cool, he was strong, and he wanted to leave to beat Hiccup down into a chunky stew! Was that too much to ask, nowadays?

“Hey, look, the freak of the hour’s trying to disappear on us,” Tuffnut jabbed Ruffnut in the ribs, who scowled at him before turning. Completely ignoring Snotlout. Watching as Hiccup, nodding profusely, stepped back from a beaming Gobber before practically bolting past Fishlegs and Astrid out the door.

“Oh, yeah,” Ruffnut nodded, immediately lurching forward to follow him, “I dunno about you guys, but I need to know how he did that,”

Snotlout was somehow even more done than earlier! How was that possible! He was going to kill literally everyone. Let everyone else die! What was the point? Hiccup, somehow, was beating him. Him. Snotlout! You know, the guy who was awesome at literally everything important while Hiccup sat there and made weirdo leather things in his spare time?

It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right! What gods answered Hiccup’s dumb prayers and not Snotlout’s? Why did Hiccup get everything?

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Snotlout felt like he was actually going to lose his Thor’s-loving mind.

“What was that? Some kind of trick?” Fishlegs ran to catch up with the group (that was supposed to be just Hiccup and Snotlout, so he could follow the guy into somewhere and finally end him), that wimpy gleam in his eye, “What did you do?”

“Yeah, how’d you do that?” Tuffnut butted in, literally smacking Fishlegs in the side with one of the pointed horns of his helmet. His grin was wide and somehow a lot less sharp than when Snotlout saw it directed towards him. Great. Another thing to evistitate Hiccup for.

“It was pretty cool,” Ruffnut giggled at him. Giggled. Like she was some girl. Oh wait. Uh. But still! Weird! Ugh! What was happening!? What was happening?

Literally everyone had followed them. Followed Hiccup. Hiccup. Everyone was trailing after that guy, now. All the way to the bridge on the forest’s edge on the path to the mead hall! Singing praises while the guy was actively running from them. What in Helheim was happening today? Snotlout couldn’t exactly destroy Hiccup if everyone else of the recruits insisted on sticking around! Didn’t anyone remember that the fishbone was, yeah, the Fishbone? Not some cool, strong, Snotlout replacement?

Hiccup turned his head, pointedly not saying a word. Probably because the only way he could do anything was because he was cheating. A cheating liar who was hiding stuff!

“Yeah, Hiccup,” Snotlout spoke up, taking a lot of glee in the fact that Hiccup straightened up to look at him with the fear of Odin in his eyes. Good. He should be afraid. Snotlout was going to make him pay. Was going to make him hurt. For lying, for cheating. For winning. Even just the once should have been enough! Hiccup wasn’t just a liar--he was a trickster. Worse than the twins, too; at least they only lied about stuff like if they had put a sharpened dagger in your pillow or not for you to sleep on, “Care to tell us all the secrets?”

Hiccup stiffened, looking back at Snotlout like he would pull an axe on the guy right now. Come on! He was at least going to wait until no one else was around, okay? Snotlout wasn’t stupid!

Hiccup suddenly quickened his pace, waving a wimpy hand at all of them as if he was waving off adoring fans. Like he was someone to care about, “I, uh. Left my axe back in the ring! You guys go on ahead; I’ll catch up,”

Sure. Sure he did. Whatever. Like Snotlout was going to believe any of his sick lies anymore. When had Hiccup become such a liar? It felt like he was doing almost every time he said anything, anymore. It wasn’t right--the weirdo always had something to say. Now it was nothing or a pile of hot shit that came out of his mouth. Hiccup didn’t even have an axe! And yet the others, without a second glance, just nodded like a bunch of stupid rams!

Not Snotlout. Not this time. He was going back into that Thor’s forsaken forest and finding what Hiccup was hiding once and for all. There was no way he was going to stop until he’d found it this time. Hiccup’s back retreated the way they’d all come, but Snotlout knew that the arena wasn’t where he was actually going. No way. Hiccup was off going to go do his weird secret things, and Snotlout was going to catch him at it. And he knew where to start, this time. Probably.

Because what did Hiccup Haddock do? Break stuff.

Chapter Text

Hiccup had run away. Of course he had. That’s what cowards and losers did, was run away. Snotlout felt like his blood was going to boil over like he was on a cookfire. 

That guy gets everything Snotlout ever wanted, like ever, and he immediately runs for the hills about it? Like Snotlout’s dreams were terrible or something? No. Hiccup was terrible and couldn’t see the golden opportunity, golden life right in front of him! Snotlout was gonna bite him or something at this rate, even if Hiccup being pretty much ungrateful for what he had would always be true. Always working, pushing his inventions, his stupid ideas. Always in a mad dash for more. It was true, and it was maddening.

What would be even more true, though, was that Snotlout was going to find Hiccup’s secret...thing. Secret stuff? Secret spot? Hideout? Secret hideout. Snotlout was going to find Hiccup’s secret hideout. He didn’t care what it took. He might even spend a whole hour out in the woods to look. That might be going a little too far…but.

The thing was that Snotlout had a plan. Idea. Kind of. Hiccup was hiding in the forest, and Snotlout was going to look around the forest. Step one. Step two, find the hidden secret. Step three…was a work in progress. What should he do with a hidden secret once he found it? Kill Hiccup? Tell everyone about the secret hideaway? Then what was the point of finding it? Finding secret stuff just meant that the secret was one that he knew about, too. Just imagine: Snotlout could hold it over Hiccup’s head pretty much forever; even if the fishbone did end up chief. Even if that happened, the killing was still probably step three.

The problem was that Step one was hard. Ugh. Why did forests have to be so big? And annoying? His feet felt like they were falling off. His legs felt like they were falling off. Whose idea were trees, anyway? And why did secret hideouts have to be so hard to find? 

Snotlout was going to attack Hiccup when he saw him. He just was. This whole thing was just becoming the worst, most annoying thing in Snotlout’s whole entire life. He could not believe it was all because of Hiccup. Why should anyone waste their time on that guy? It was like spending a bunch of time drying off a wet ram while it was still raining. Stupid and useless. Just like Hiccup. 

And ugh, each step was such a chore. How was he still not avoiding chores? His parents weren’t even home! What kind of sick joke was this?

And as if the joke couldn’t get any sicker, Snotlout’s foot caught on something, sinking into the ground. His arms flailed out wildly, grabbing onto anything he could reach. Was he going to die? Was his foot going to break off?

“Thor!” His hand latched onto a tree branch as he swore, using the thing to pull himself upright. His knees wobbled for a second. Just one second. And then he was fine. Super duper fine.

Until the branch he had clenched onto slipped from his hands and swung upward more violently than Astrid to hit him square in the face. Right in the cheek. In the face.

“Ow!” Snotlout yelped, stumbling backwards again and nearly tripping over the ditch. Ow. Ow. Holy Thor, ow. Who knew sticks could be so evil? Whipping his wounded face around, Snotlout nearly growled at the offending branch before pausing. The branch…wasn’t just a branch: a broken sliver, leading to a bigger body.

It was that weird cracked-in-half tree, in the same place that it had been earlier that morning. Which, like, duh, obviously. What was going around and moving broken trees? A dragon? No, dragons were too stupid to be doing stuff like moving trees when they fell. 

And the mud. Dirt? Mud? Whatever it was, it had a line. A hole? A direct, continuous ditch that led from the broken tree to…somewhere.  But…how could the ditch have been made? Hiccup definitely wasn’t big enough to make it by himself, like, rolling around or something, but what was around that felt like making ditches to match that one? Nothing that Snotlout knew of, for sure. Maybe a dragon. Wait, yeah. Definitely a dragon. No way could Hiccup, as wimpy as he was, do all this.

It was still weird, though. Suspicdous or something…but Hiccup would think it was cool, and maybe even make that his hideout! Yeah. Snotlout was so smart sometimes, it baffled himself. (Baffled was a word, right? It sounded like something grandmother would say.)

But the ditch. Where did it lead off to? Hiccup’s dumb little secret…a dragon’s den? The dirt was soft under Snotlout’s feet as he stepped forward into the divot. Compared to the rest of the ground around him, like that stupid hole he tripped on, the muddied-up dirt was soft and squished under his foot. It really would fit Hiccup, to find a weird dragon ditch thing and decide that it was some divine intervention and he just had to claim it. Snotlout had never met someone who was so believing in doing things. Why not just take a nap, or something? What was the point of trying so hard? 

It’s not like Hiccup had to work for anything, either. Had to give the effort. He had Gobber’s apprenticeship handed to him. Had the future chiefdom handed to him. Had dragon training handed to him. No matter what happened, Hiccup would always still. Still. Have more than Snotlout. Anything Hiccup ever did that was cool was just his way of showing off: Snotlout just knew it. And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t! Snotlout had done everything right throughout his entire life, okay? And Hiccup was still beating him, somehow. Lucky, annoying loser. 

Gah, Snotlout really wanted to punch the guy’s firelights out now. And so...he’d follow the ditch. Just for a little bit. See where it went. And if it didn’t lead to Hiccup? Snotlout was just gonna, like, smother him in his sleep, or something. Shouldn’t be too hard.

The forest rustled quietly above him, the leaves crackling together around the too tall trees. Stuck between living, healthy trees, the broken one was almost…sad. But that was stupid. Who got sad over a tree? Not Snotlout. 

Ugh, whatever. Screw that. 

Rustled dirt squishing under his boots, Snotlout trekked onwards, past the stupid wimpy tree to a big pile of rocks. Joy. Yay. Rocks! Oh boy, everything had been just solved, hadn’t it? Ugh. The stone was rough under his hands as he lifted them across the surface. Coarse. Like, you know. A rock.

Past the pile of boulders, though. Snotlout squinted his eyes, leaning closer. Scattered all over the dirt and grass were…ropes? Round stones. The stones were connected to some of the rope strands, and he straightened. Was that…one of those weapon thingies? A boa? Bow? No…Bowla? Bola? Yeah, probably that.

 What was it doing here, out in the forest? It would be kind of hard to use a weapon if it was broken, frayed, and hidden in the woods…

Hidden. Hidden in the woods. Was this Hiccup’s fault? It wasn’t much of a stretch to say that the destruction could be, in some shape and form. Hiccup with his stupid ideas and stupid ways of getting things set on fire. (Or blown up. Or thrown into the sea. Or thrown into the fire. Or there was the time he tried to make a thing that threw…flaming axes or something? What was it with the guy and fire?)

And in the woods, like this? Where there was no one to show off to? That was weird. And secretive. And Hiccup was totally, definitely hiding something. This had to be his hideout, right?

But past the bolas, there was nothing. Trees, rocks. Dirt. No secret caves or secret cheating or secret…secrets. Nothing except for that tall wall of rock over there, with something red wedged between the stones…something red wedged between the stones?

Snotlout nearly bolted forward, decidedly not stumbling on the rope pieces, thank you very much. Something red…something wooden! With metal! He drew closer, and felt a large, warrior-ly grin spread across his face. A shield, painted red with a white dragon on the front, was stuck inside the thin split of the rock wall. Like a secret entrance. Like Hiccup’s secret entrance.

He’d found it. Snotlout had actually found it! Oh sure, it could just be a random shield out in the middle of random nowhere, but really? This was the gods answering his prayers, after all this time. Getting attacked by dragons, attacked by the ground. Attacked by a tree. It all led to finding this. He was finally going to beat Hiccup. In a fight, in dragon training, he didn’t even care! Snotlout. Won. He found Hiccup’s secret hideout, and wasn’t that embarrassing for the guy? Ha.

The shield was wedged stubbornly into the rock, the metal slightly dented, like someone was shoving at it. Snotlout reached out a hand and gave the thing a firm shove in the middle, frowning. Despite his big and strong and manly Viking muscles, the shield didn’t budge. His frown grew deeper. How did this even get here? Was Hiccup was strong enough to get a shield shoved this deep into rock? Snotlout was half surprised the guy could lift it at all.

But besides, Snotlout was better than Hiccup. He could move the shield. It was a shitty secret hideout entrance anyway. Even if the white dragon on the red front was growling and fierce and painted just in the way that somehow looked the coolest. But whatever. Weak defenses, or whatever his mom would say.

Huffing, Snotlout glared at the offending barrier, placing a hand on the top rim, the metal cool to the touch, “Just…move,” 

Like a shield, the thing didn’t say a word, but it did budge. Snotlout sent it a large, powerful grin and slammed into it with all his weight. His shoulder rushed forward, hitting the metal circle of the center and all of a sudden off his feet. The shield swung downwards, Snotlout still on top of it, and tossed him over the top. Planting him roughly face first into the rocky ground past it.

“Ow…” Snotlout groaned, his nose squished so meanly into the ground it was probably broken or something. What kind of shield broke someone’s nose?! So much for defense…His shoulders hurt from hitting the ground. His gut hurt from being cruelly pressed into by the cold, mean metal of the thing as it spun around. Okay. Maybe it was a better secret entrance than he thought, but still…

The secret entrance! To the secret hideout that Snotlout had found! Oh yeah, he was cool!

Snotlout began to grin despite the horrible pain like a real Viking, and triumphantly swung his head upwards to get a good look at whatever Hiccup was hiding out here. It had better be good.

His face had just barely left the ground before the horns of his helmet collided with something, (the shield; evil demon) and sent the metal of his helmet smacking into his skull and slipping over his head. And off his head.

Before Snotlout even realized what was happening and tried to save his helmet like a badass, it was already gone; slipping down the apparent decline of the apparent cliff the shield had led to. Snotlout listened in annoyed horror as the metal scraped down the rocks of the drop off, the heirloom clanking loudly with every hit. The fall sounded long--that was so gonna leave a dent.

With a final metal clang, it sounded like the helmet was all done falling. And need to be gotten. By Snotlout.

“Uuugghhhhhhh…” Snotlout was not pouting. He was annoyed, okay? Very annoyed. The whole day was pretty much the worst ever. Ever in the whole nine seas or whatever. Seven seas? No… but who cared? He had to climb down a cliff! This was so Hiccup’s fault it wasn’t even funny anymore. He wanted to punch him. He was gonna punch him.

Ugh. Ughhhh. His shoulders hurt. His head hurt. Gods, why had he even come here? His helmet was down a cliff. He had to climb down a cliff now!

Groaning, Snotlout rolled over, staring up at the trees, and he felt like they were mocking him again. Rude. Oh, and had he mentioned yet that his shoulders hurt? Which meant that getting up was going to be even ruder and more annoying than just laying there. It was just the worst. His shoulders screamed at him and Snotlout scrabbled at the ground to get his hands under himself, skull throbbing like he’d taken a mace to his head guts. With a mighty shove, he got himself the right way up again, sending a furious glare at the tilted shield before pausing, because…he could just. Go home. Not think about the secret hideout he’d found, go take a nap, and pretend this never happened. It sounded nice. Temptingly, amazingly nice. 

Snotlout huffed, pushing himself to his feet and turning around. Yeah, who cared about Hiccup anyway? He couldn’t believe that he’d actually spent this much time on the guy already! An amazing Jorgenson warrior like himself shouldn’t be worried about fishbone wimps like Hiccup…

But he’d just keep cheating. Keep winning. In life, in dragon training. Hiccup had some kind of secret advantage, and it wasn’t fair. 

So Snotlout had to stay. Had to figure it out. Had to…find his helmet, still. Snotlout actually couldn’t believe he forgot about that.

So he turned to the cliffside. The steep, grassy, slope that his helmet had clunked on. What would happen if he fell? It would hurt, obviously. Badly. He’d clunk off the cliffs like his helmet and would probably have more than a dent. His mother would say that it was a terrible idea. His father would just laugh. But UGH. Who cared? His father would laugh at him right now, anyway! Laugh at him, for waiting so long. He would tell Snotlout to prove himself. Tell him to be a real Jorgenson man, not just a boy.

And Snotlout was a man! He was so manly it hurt, okay? And he could--would--climb down and get his helmet. He walked over to the cliff edge, swallowing as he peered over the side. It was. Wow. It was. High. Really high.

Come now, boyo, it’s okay to be afraid! His father would laugh, clap him on the back, before making him do it anyway.--For other men! Not for us, you see? We’re better than the rest ’a those lot, understand?

So Snotlout swallowed, lowering himself down to sit on the rock. Searched below for a ledge to stand on, and. Went. The rock was coarse under his fingers, and Snotlout wasn’t. Scared, or anything. No, not at all! Why would he be? It’s…not like he was just casually climbing down a cliff, or anything. That would be crazy. Crazy brave, which he was! So he was climbing down a cliff. No big deal. So what? Did that all the time, for sure. Big strong man Snotlout, best cliff climber in all of Berk.

And it was easy! It was easy. Hand to rock, rock to foot. Step by step. He could do it. He could climb down stuff, no problem! Snotlout was literally the coolest ever, honestly--

“Snotlout?!” A smarmy voice called down from below, before letting out a small curse. Snotlout tensed up, whipping his head around from where he’d been staring down at the next cliff step. Did someone else know about the hideout? Was Snotlout not the only one. Who’d…found it…

Hiccup was there, (not someone else), next to…a something. A big, black, winged something. Was that. Was that a dragon? Was Hiccup…when. What? How?

“Is that a--?” Snotlout turned around, pointing accusingly, before he froze. Or, at least tried to. His remaining hand slipped off the rock he’d been clinging to, and he couldn’t. Couldn’t breathe. His boots, made by his mother just a year ago, scrabbled at the cliffside, trying desperately to find some kind of big ledge to stop himself on. The padded surface met harsh rock and slipped, toes unable to step on air. Sending him down the cliff.

Harsh, unforgiving wind rushed past Snotlout’s hair as he skidded down the rock, whipping  dust into his eyes, and a horrified shout was ripped from his throat. He slapped his hands onto every surface he could reach, crying out as he met only a painful tug at his skin and the giving of rubble. 

As the cliffside grew steeper, Snotlout began to slide faster, dust billowing everywhere (he couldn’t see--) as he pushed his legs closer towards himself, praying to Thor, to Odin. To Freya. Help. Help. Help.

“Snotlout!” Someone’s voice shouted off to the side, but Snotlout couldn’t hear, couldn’t think.

As if some kind of wrongfooted blessing, his foot caught on a ledge, and Snotlout cried out in thankfulness to the heavens. Before it gave out, the rest of his body’s weight crashing down, the rock slanting below him. Unable to hold the pressure, his ankle rolled painfully, sending him tumbling down backwards. His arms flailed wildly in the air, the clouds high and free in the sky, before he flipped over as the air tugged at his clothes again, ripping his vest off. The ground rushed towards him at a rapid pace. 

He didn’t have his helmet.